Anger is a Passion
by jenlovesbones
Summary: "Sweets: Striking Booth indicated the depth of your feelings for him. It was a very passionate act.  Booth: Did you hear that? Passion!  Brennan: Yes, passion, because anger is a passion!" -Series of therapeutic one-shots to comfort Season 6 weary souls.
1. The Suspect in the Story

**_Author's Note/Intro to Series: _**_I've spent this season wishing Brennan would get mad… cause I sure as hell know I've been mad about this season, for many different reasons. I want her to get angry, get fired up, get… passionate. I think we're about to spend the second half of season six watching her personality take a very different kind of turn from what I've been hoping to see… and I hope I'm wrong. Because B&B are at their best when they're so invested, they can't help but fight it out. And they need a really, really good fight to make any progress at all. But no matter how it turns out, I will still have wished she'd gotten a little more pissed off at some of the things Booth's done already._

_Put it another way: I'm bringing back a pre-season-six-kickass-ecowarrior-trained-in-three-types-of-martial-arts-takes-no-crap Brennan to deal with this messed-up-fig-tree-humping-should-probably-get-checked-for-lasting-brain-problems-and-a-venereal-disease-season 6 Booth. And maybe, I'll let some other characters have their say too..._

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**_Sweets: Striking Agent Booth indicated the depth of your feelings for him. It was a very passionate act._**

**_Booth: Thank you! Did you hear that? Passion!_**

**_Brennan: Yes, passion, because anger is a passion!_**

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_I want Brennan that passionate again, over everything that's happened. **And anger is a passion**… As it turns out, I really think this series is about to get fun. And damn, maybe just a little cathartic to a shipper's heart too. :)_

**_Summary_**_: Remember when Stephen Nathan tweeted something about Brennan not letting Hannah in the car (which never happened… boo!). This is where my mind went with that. Like I said, it's a dated drabble, something I wrote during the winter hiatus, meant for the timing of the Bullet in the Brain. If you haven't seen that, then spoiler alert. Those of you who have know that sadly, this scene never happened. Not even close._

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The door to the interrogation room opened and slammed against the back wall so hard, Booth jumped out of his seat.

"Bones, what the hell?" Booth asked in outrage, turning around to fully face her and immediately taking a step back as he noticed the ire in her expression.

"Don't say another word Dad."

"Tempe, it's okay," Max said, trying to reach for her hand to calm her while staying seated at the interrogation table.

"No, it is not okay, Dad. It's definitely not okay," she said, her rage barely contained. "Have you charged him with anything?" she said, turning to the agent standing before her.

"No, he's just here to make…" but she all she heard was "no."

"Then we're going. Dad, my lawyer is outside, and he'll take care of your paperwork. We're leaving now."

"Bones, I just wanted to make sure that we could clear him, early on."

"Why is he even a suspect Booth? He didn't do this. You know he didn't do this, he couldn't have done this! We already determined that the gunman is an experienced sniper. He's not a trained sniper." She turned to her father. "Max, have you sniped anyone lately?"

"No, sweetheart," he said calmly.

"See, now did that really require bringing my father in to question as an official suspect in this investigation?" Not letting him get a word in edgewise, she gestured to the door. "Dad, now, we're leaving."

This time, Max stood, and walked toward his irate daughter, almost to the door where he could escort his daughter out of the room so she didn't kill her partner. But Booth reached her first.

"Bones," he said, grabbing her elbow. As she turned to him, he knew that gesture was a mistake, and he immediately let go and took a step back.

"It's not like you could have called me and said "Hey, I want to make sure your father's not to blame for this," or "Bones, can we talk to Max and make sure he didn't try and murder the Gravedigger." But, no. I have to find out that my _partner_ has my father brought it as a suspect in the shooting from the Washington Post. Nice byline for Hannah, by the way."

A range of emotions passed over Booth's face as the realization struck him. "Bones, I... I didn't know about the story. I can't believe she would have…"

"I'm not making this up Booth. It's bad enough you've made him an official suspect by dragging him in here, but now he's headline news. And the only way she knows who my father is and why the FBI would possibly _ever_ consider him a potential suspect in this shooting, is through you. There's no other way she learns that. So, pass along my congratulations on her big front page story. If you have any further questions for my father, you can call my lawyer." She slapped her lawyer's business card down on the table, as well as a printed copy of the story, bearing Hannah Burley's byline, about Max Keenan being questioned by the FBI in the Gravedigger assassination.

Booth was frozen in place, calculating how messed up things had gotten so quickly. He merely mentioned his dissatisfaction in needing to talk with Max to clear him at breakfast just this morning, but he only mentioned him, and Hannah must have done the research from there. The timestamp on the article Brennan printed off the paper's website was 11:30 am. It took mere hours from the last time he saw her for Max Keenan to make front page news with her byline. For his girlfriend to leak information he shouldn't have given her in the first place to the public. He had only decided to bring Max in this morning, to _clear_ him as a suspect early on. Get it over with quickly and he could mention it to Bones afterwards, that he did everything by the books.

Only seconds passed before Booth went out into the hallway, and saw Max trying to calm her down.

"Honey, you know I didn't do this, right?" Brennan nodded, her fury still obvious. "I know I didn't do this. Booth knows I didn't do this. Now the air is clear."

"It is not okay that he brought you in here."

"He called me and asked me to come in."

"What? Why did you come in? Why didn't you call me first?"

"Well, first, if I didn't respond to an official FBI request, that would make me seem very much like a suspect and I like to stay on your good side. And second, he's your partner, so I kinda figured you'd be here," Max said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Yeah, you would think," she muttered. "I don't care about intentions, Dad. This front page story, dragging your name into this… this was _not_ okay."

Booth was preparing to approach her again when the elevator doors opened and out walked his other problem.

"Seeley, Temperance, I'm so glad you're here," Hannah started, looking out-of-breath in her advance.

"Charlie, do you have the paperwork with Max's statement so he can sign it and we can go?" Brennan asked Agent Burns, turning her back and ignoring Hannah as she walked up to her.

"Right here Dr. Brennan," Charlie responded. Max and her lawyer quickly reviewed and signed the paperwork, giving his contact information, and other pertinent info. As soon as Max's pen lifted off the paper, Temperance was forcefully moving her father toward the elevator.

"Let's go."

As they waited a moment for the elevator to open, and Hannah walked up behind her. "Temperance, Mr. Keenan, I'm so sorry. It's a misunderstanding..." Hannah pleaded.

Brennan looked forward as the door opened, and walked inside with her Dad and lawyer, hitting a button repeatedly to close the door. "Bones, please, we need to talk…" Booth said as he ran toward the elevator door. But the door closed, leaving Booth and Hannah standing in front of it.

Without moving, they spoke at the same time.

"I'm so sorry…"

"I can't believe you did that…"

"I was only curious as to who Max Keenan was, his backstory because you wouldn't tell me that much over breakfast and my editor caught me doing the research, put two and two together and went with it."

"You knew I was bringing him in to question him. You and only you knew that. And that's my screw up Hannah. It's my fault for saying something like that in front of you because I'm a professional law enforcement official and I should know better. _I do know_ better than to trust a journalist. But you used our breakfast conversation to get a byline. You actually used it."

"To be fair, my editor added it to the story, and it was out of my hands."

"It, something which he didn't know anything about until you started digging around. And Hannah, you had to _confirm something_ or your editor runs the risk of being charged with libel. Hell, Max could probably sue the paper and win this case, because I sure as hell didn't book him like the article said to bring him in. But that doesn't change the fact that you did this, you told your editor, in a story that has your byline, details about an investigation I'm running. How exactly I am supposed to trust you going forward... that's the next thing you and your _editor _should use your investigative talents to figure out," he said louder, waving around the printed article Brennan had left him.

"Seeley, I'm sorry," she said, as they heard a voice from afar call for 'Booth!' His eyes slammed shut, and she could see a group of angry looking men staring at him over his shoulder.

"You need to go, so I can go get my ass chewed out by my bosses for leaking information to my girlfriend. But we are _not_ done with this."

"There are only so many ways I can apologize Seeley," she said, mostly to his back, as he turned and left to respond to the man calling him.

Hannah made it to the parking garage, and as she stepped out, she saw Temperance waving goodbye to her father as he drove away, then walking to her own car.

"Temperance!"

With determined effort, Brennan quickly moved and got inside her car, needing to avoid saying something to her partner's girlfriend she might later regret. But Hannah was quick and caught up to her as she was starting the car. Brennan threw her car in reverse when Hannah knocked on the passenger's window. "Temperance, please, we need to talk."

"Get away from me, Hannah," she yelled evenly through the windows. But Hannah grabbed on to the handle of the locked door and pulled anyways to indicate she wanted in.

Brennan considered what it would look like to have a woman attached to her car for however long Hannah could hold on as she floored it. The image, while oddly pleasant in the current context, led her to crack a window, just slightly.

"Please, let me in, and I'll explain what happened. Please?" Hannah nearly begged.

"I'm well aware of what happened. There's no excuse for it. Not from you. Not from Agent Booth. I will ask you as nicely as I can manage to step away from my car and let me leave. And Hannah… I never ask anything of anyone nicely more than once."

Defeated and intimidated, Hannah took a step away from the car, and as soon as Brennan could tell she was clear, she backed up and sped out of the garage.

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_To my girls who know how much I hate long author notes… oops, I did it again._

_I may not always have time to respond to your reviews, but I do write about them in my diary every night. Or… something less pathetic sounding, while still making the point that I love them and love you for taking the time to write them. : )_


	2. The Impatience in the Agent

_**A/N: *Blushes*- I know I'm mostly a one-shot-writer, so the number of story alerts on this thing is blush-worthy. Thanks all! :D**_

_**This is a post-Bullet in the Brain drabble. All due respect to my Twitter tweeps who thought it was an awesome lovey-dovey B&B moment at the end of the episode in the diner, I have to disagree. Yes, Booth may have looked at her in a painfully longing way, but Brennan's eyes simply said she wanted to kill that man for running off and nearly getting himself killed by Broadsky. If you doubt me, go back, and rewatch her carefully. Oh… and Emily Deschanel is a fabulous actress.**_

_**So this picks up at the end of the episode when Max's cab drives away…**_

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**_The Impatience in the Agent_**

She gave the conch shell her father had bought her another once over, before she turned back toward the diner. Her partner, who at the moment, she applied the term loosely to given his stunt today, had quickly moved his head to stare at his hands, looking uncomfortable as he sat there alone.

She took a deep breath to maintain her composure, capping her anger and frustration as best she could and walked back inside to grab her things. Booth continued to stare at his hands as she approached.

"Do you need a ride home?" she asked, her tone devoid of inflection.

"Nah, I took a cab here, I'll grab one back."

"Fine. Goodnight," she said, swinging her back on to her shoulder as she turned to leave.

"Bones?" Booth asked after her. She paused for a moment, debating whether she had the will look at him any more tonight. "You okay?" he asked.

"Sure Booth. Just fine," she said in a tone that would have made all of the remains waiting for her thoughtful examination in limbo recoil.

"Bones?"

"What, Booth?" she asked exasperatedly.

"I'm sorry that you're upset I went without you. I really just thought… if he was there, that I could talk to him. He wasn't the same guy I was expecting, you know."

"Yes, I know what it's like to expect one personality, but be greeted by a seemingly different, and quite frankly, unpleasant personality altogether. And I'm not upset that you went without me, in the juvenile manor which I infer you intended your remark. I'm upset that you went into a situation, after having determined that there was some sort of personal connection that you have with the killer we have been looking for, by yourself. I'm upset that you put your life in danger, alone. I'm your partner Booth. Or I'm supposed to be. And I'm upset that you won't let me. It's what we've always done. You could have died today because you won't let me, your partner for the last six years, _be_ your partner."

Booth started to speak, but Brennan held up her hand.

"Don't apologize because you think _I'm_ irrationally upset that you went somewhere without me. I'm pretty sure in one of our session with Sweets, he said something about the importance of 'I' statements. Make some 'I' statements instead Booth. '_I_ apologize because _I_ made a _stupid_ decision to go into a dangerous situation alone.' '_I_ realize I could have died today because of my actions.' '_I _should have asked you to come with me, because you're my partner and that's what we do and for that, _I'm _sorry.'"

"Somewhere along the way, our roles have gotten reversed. I used to be the one to rush into a situation without thoroughly considering the ramifications or the danger I might be in. You're the one that taught me to think things through. So why the hell didn't you?"

"Bones… I… I'm sorry. I just… _I'm_ sorry."

"If only you could have waited for me…" she shook her head. "…maybe you wouldn't be hurt like you are now," she said dejectedly. "Feel better, Booth."

Brennan's sad expression wasn't lost on Booth in the brief moment he had to take absorb it, before she turned and briskly walked out of the diner, leaving him to contemplate her words and his actions.

Yes, she was definitely pissed at him for his life-endangering actions today.

Not that there was a dual meaning to her words or any such nonsense.

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_**A metaphorical penny for your thoughts? (It's just not cost effective to ship pennies to everyone around the world... it's the thought that counts. Tell me yours!) :)**_


	3. The Promise that Wasn't

_**A/N: With the long hiatus, it's hard to forget that Hannah's technically "gone" now. In fact, since she threatened to come back, I expect that we haven't seen the last of her. That's "Angry Brennan's" cue…**_

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**The Promise that Wasn't**

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She wasn't known for her ability to trust a gut reaction or a "funny feeling." She leaves the intestinal thinking to Booth.

But merely a sip in to her second glass of scotch with her back to the door, she still knew who entered the bar as soon as the door opened.

She received the call a few hours earlier, and because she was near prying ears, she couldn't have the conversation she really wanted to with the caller. So, she agreed to a meeting tonight. A brief meeting, because she knew exactly what she planned to say.

"Hey… it's good to see you. How've you been?"

Brennan took another sip, remaining silent.

Hannah squirmed in her seat, staring at the stoic Brennan. "Thanks for meeting me. Are you in the middle of a case right now?" she tried again.

"Did you really ask me here to talk about my latest case or my partner?"

"Not much for the small talk, I get it. So… how is Seeley?" Hannah asked nervously.

"That's not information I'm willing to give you," she said, throwing back the rest of the scotch in her glass, and placing a $20 bill from her pocket on the counter. "Anything else?" she asked sardonically, standing up.

"I just… I never meant to hurt him Temperance. You need to know that."

"Trust me, I don't know that at all."

"It was never a secret that I don't want to get married."

"And it was never a secret that Booth _would_ want to get married. And you knew that."

"I love Seeley. I really do. But we were never meant to be something that lasted forever. I'm just not that kind of woman. I don't want to settle behind a white picket fence and drive the minivan that delivers the kids to soccer practice."

"You followed him back here. You left behind a prestigious position in your field to be with him. How did you expect him to interpret that?"

"Just for what it was. That I loved him and wanted to be with him. I want to exist in the present, the time right in front of me, rather than always making plans for the future."

"I think you are selfish. And I don't know what you planned to accomplish by asking me to meet you here tonight, but whatever it was, I hope you've failed at reaching your objective."

Brennan turned and walked out the door, resisting a violent urge to throw another person who has hurt Booth off of their stool, and made toward the door.

Hannah followed on Brennan's heel as she exited the Founding Fathers. When Brennan stopped just outside of the door, Hannah collided with her, tossing her bag to the ground and spilling its contents. As the annoyed anthropologist bent down to gather her things she caught her second wind before Hannah could speak again.

"You know, the reason I've never been with Booth is because I know what he wants for his life and I never thought I could give it to him. I can't even pretend to know that I could for his sake, and wouldn't, I believe the phrase is, 'string him along' while I try to figure it out. But the reason you're not with Booth any longer is because you knew what he wanted out of life and cruelly ignored it, knowing you'd never be willing to give him what he wanted. You stayed with him anyways. You soaked up all the temporary enjoyment you could, while he became more committed to a life with you, while he was nothing but honest with his intentions. You moving here, moving in with him, becoming a part of his life and son's life, becoming friends with his friends… you were superficially making a commitment that you had no intention on following through with."

"The first conversation that you and I ever had, I told you that you needed to be sure. Because Booth would give himself to you completely. I told you how hurt he'd be if you weren't as serious about your relationship as he was. And you said you were sure, that you really loved him. Booth did just what I expected him to do. And you rejected him. You gave him every indication just by being here that you saw a future with him, but neglected to specify that that future was only for as long as you felt like sticking around."

"So, no. No, you don't get to know how he's doing, or details about our latest case or Parker or what he ordered for lunch today. You lost the right to know any of that. You want information, grow up and call Booth yourself."

Brennan walked to the end of the sidewalk, extending her arm in request for a taxi. As a yellow cab pulled up to her, she said without turning around, "And you should remove my number from your phone, because I can promise you, I won't answer a call from you again."

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**I had a couple of ways I considered ending this one… but thanks to ProfeJMarie for the nudge in this simpler direction. I decided since I absolutely hate the sound of Hannah's voice, the less she talks, the better. But, like I said before, I don't think we've even begun to see the last of the Blonde Bing Barbie. Thoughts?**

**Also, I'm totally up for angry/angsty suggestions and prompts. Tell me what you wish Brennan (or another character) would get angry about. I have some more angry Brennan coming, but there will be some love for angry squints coming soon. :D **


	4. The Tequila in the Anthropologist

_**This one involves alcohol. And an angry Brennan with a hint, sprinkle, just a dash of jealousy tossed in. (What, Brennan, jealous? *gasps*). The author reminds you to drink responsibly and not to argue with your designated driver if you can help yourself.**_

_**In order to read this at the optimum level, I'm going to ask you to imagine your drunkest moments in the past and insert Brennan giving a speech.**_

_**Imagine her speech being quick and loud in one instance and slow and slurred in the next. She could be laughing in one moment and starting to cry in the next. This actually might be one of those pieces you need to read twice, if you're like me, and need to get Brennan's cadence right in your head while you read. Someday, maybe there will be audio fanfic, cause I'm quite convinced I could pull off a very accurate Drunk-Angry Brennan outloud. : )**_

_**On with the story…**_

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"You know sweetie, I love you, but it just seems wrong that you threw me a baby shower in a bar, even if it is the Founding Fathers. It's my party and I'm one of the few people here who can qualify as a designated driver."

"Well, maybe you should have friends who like to stay sober. To be fair, the party's been over for an hour. I didn't drink at all during the party. But I'm drinking now… I like drinking," she slurred.

"Bren, how much have you had to drink, exactly?"

"Not enough Ange."

"Brennan…" Angela drawled out. "Thank you for my party sweetie. And now, I think it's time we get you home."

"You should go home Angela. You can go home and Hodgins will be there and you'll be happy and married and all lovey-ducky and think about your baby and your very nice life. That's what you get to do. Me? I'm going to drink some more," she said, grabbing the tequila bottle and pouring another shot that she quickly downed before pouring another.

"Okay, Bren, enough already. No more tequila. It's time to go." Angela signaled over to Hodgins, who walked back in from another trip to their car with gifts. They had a silent married couple conversation with their eyes, Angela asking for his assistance.

"No!" she exclaimed forcefully before returning her voice to a calmer lever. "No. I am just fine here. I am going to stay and you are going to go. And I will see you on Monday."

"Tell you what, Dr. B, why don't you come home with us. I've got plenty of booze there," Hodgins offered, hoping she'd pass out on the ride home.

"No," she said firmly, pouring and taking another shot.

Angela followed Hodgins a few feet away from Brennan to come up with a game plan. "When did she start inhaling tequila?" Hodgins asked.

"I swear she was fine when the party started winding down a half hour ago. She was excitedly playing the perfect hostess, saying goodbye to people, making sure I knew who gave what gift for thank you notes. She was scary organized Brennan and fine. Then, like 10 minutes ago, I saw her throwing back a shot every 30 seconds. Whatever happened, we've gotta get her out of here."

"I'll get Booth, I think he's still outside," Hodgins said.

"What's he doing outside?"

"Talking to your friend Jessica, last I saw him."

"Jessica, my very flirty, touchy feely man-loving friend, who's been making suggestive eyes at Booth all night?"

"Is that her full name, because I just know her as Jessica?" Hodgins said sardonically.

"Yeah, suddenly, I get the tequila. Don't go get Booth, okay. But do get the car and wait outside, so we can take her home with us," Angela said, walking back to Brennan with more determination than before.

"Time to go, Bren. We're leaving and you're coming with us," Angela said while taking the tequila bottle and grabbing the full shot glass from Brennan's hand as it approached her lips.

"Hey!" Brennan cried, as some of the tequila spilled on her. "Angela, I'm not leaving. I'm going to do whatever the hell I want," she yelled, reaching clumsily for the bottle Angela was holding out of her reach.

"Brennan, this was a great night, and a great party. Please let us take you home, so I know you're safe and healthy. Please don't ruin this night by making me worry about you. Let me take you home."

"I'm sorry Angela. I'm so sorry. I can't help but ruin people's lives. And ruin people's happiness. I ruin things. I hurt people. I'm so sorry you're hurting," she said, her temper now somber, tears threatening to spill from her eyes as she reached for Angela's hand. She wiped the tears from her eye with her free hand and snapped out of her sad state just a little too quickly.

"But you have a great life. And I shouldn't be a part of it, cause I ruin things. Ruin. Ruin. Ruin. Ruin. When you say it enough it doesn't sound like a word anymore. Ruuuuuuuuin," Brennan drawled out before breaking into a manic chuckle. Then she slammed her fists down on the bar.

"I was supposed to have a baby by now, you know. Like you. She'd be older. Cause I was supposed to have her awhile ago. I can't have a baby though. I mean, technically, I think I can but I can't. Cause I can't use my sperm in the freezer. And I haven't had sex in three years so I can't have a baby that way. And everyone knows that there's no such thing as an immaculate conception. And even if there was, I don't believe in God, sooooooo… there's no way God's going to punch me up," she said, pointing at the ceiling.

"I can't be happy either. Cause I ruin things. Logic. It's logic Angela. I'm too logical. I think too much about things that can be true and things that can't be true. I mean, what's a stupid promise? Why not just lie and say that 40 years sounds like a good plan? Even if there's no way I can know if 40 years is possible. There's just no way. But I could lie. I could say, 'Sure, why not 40 years or 50 years or hell, why not 100 years.' If I'm going to make promises I can't possibly know if I can keep, why the hell not shoot for 100. Or 200. Or two billion. Yep. I promise we can be together for two billion years. But you know what? If I said two billion, he'd want two billion and one. Because nothing I'd say or do would ever be good enough. I'm not good enough. I've never been what he wants.

"And dammit. Why'd he have to ask me? He's a smart man. Granted not as smart as me because I'm a genius. But he knew. He knew I'd never be able to say with certainty that I could give him two billion years and he asked me anyway. Does that even make sense? Why ask a question you already know the answer to? And then when you get the answer you know you're gonna get, even if it's the answer you don't want, what right do you have to get mad? He's been so mad at me. But he keeps asking people questions he already knows the answer to. He asked her too, you know, for two billion years and he had to know she was going to say no. I knew she'd say no. You knew she'd say no. And he gets mad. And he acts like it's all _my_ fault. And I'm sick of it."

The bartender had already taken the tequila bottle away, but Angela was still holding her last attempted shot. Feeling quite sympathetic at this point, Angela handed the shot back to Brennan.

"Thank you," Brennan shouted as she threw her head back with the shot, and nearly tipped over her stool. Angela reached out to keep her upright, which just made Brennan laugh and continue on.

"Did you know that there's a difference between _making love _and having _sex?_ Or that there's one person in this world for everyone, one person that you're supposed to spend the rest of your life with. Well of course you know because you have Hodgins. That's what he told me Angela. And then years and years and years and lines that can't be crossed and professional jumbo mumbo years later, he told me it was me, that I was the one. For like 15 seconds. But it wasn't me. And then he thought it was Hannah. But it wasn't Hannah. He used to think it was Rebecca. But it wasn't her either. And now he probably thinks its Jessica. And while I have no evidence to back this up yet, I'm pretty damn sure it ain't Jessica either."

"Bren, I want to keep talking to you, so very, very much while you have this truth serum in you, but let's talk while we head back to my house, okay," Angela said, completely humored and curious about everything she was learning, while at the same time, wanting to grant her best friend a little privacy for her ranting.

"Nope, I can't go with you, because you have someone. For forever. It's not me Angela. I am not someone for forever because I don't believe there is a forever. Though occasionally I have considered what lesbianism would be like, I have never dated a woman, so even if you and Hodgins didn't work out, I don't know that we'd be all that compatible. You know, I haven't dated a man in years either. Cause if I do, he runs a background check or he shows up to interrupt or he interrogates them or he arrests them for murder. It's not fair Ange. What are you, sexually speaking, if you don't have sex with either men or women?"

"It's called being celibate, sweetie."

"No, Angela, it's called being sad. I'm just a sad logical person who ruins things. Why would anyone want to have sex with me? I should become Catholic. That way I could become a nun and no one would think it strange that I haven't been laid out in years. Cause I find that strange, Angela. It's a natural, biological process to have sex. Humans, like all mammals, need sex. There's bunches of reasons why. Like hormones. And the anthropological need to procreate for survival of the species. Also, sometimes you just get _horny_," Brennan said, giggling furiously.

Angela used her laughter as the right time to get her off the barstool and on to her feet. "Angela," Brennan sung, "Where are we going?"

"Outside, sweetie," she said, as Hodgins was walking up to them and took over the job of propping Brennan up. Angela moved ahead of him and opened the door to the bar so he could walk her out.

"Jack? All mammals need sex you know. Tell me about some bugs that need sex too. I'm pretty sure even bugs have more sex than I do," Brennan said, one arm looped around Hodgins' shoulders for support.

"Sure thing, Dr. B, just as soon as we're in the car," he said, successfully getting her out the door and a few steps out of the bar.

"Bones!" Booth shouted, appearing from somewhere down the sidewalk outside the Founding Fathers. "What's wrong with Bones?" he asked Angela, who walked quickly to keep him from reaching her friend.

"Nothing, Booth, just turn around and go."

He could hear Brennan rambling to Hodgins as they walked down the sidewalk to his car. "Is she drunk?" he asked incredulously. "How long have I been out here?"

"Long enough, bucko, and if you care about her at all, you'll forget you saw her like this. Now, go," she commanded, shooing him away.

But he couldn't take his eyes off his partner and quickly moved around Angela to walk toward Brennan. "Bones, are you okay?"

"Booth! Hello, Agent Booth," she shouted, as she turned around quickly while Hodgins fumbled to keep her upright as she spun around.

"Guys, I can get her home if you want," Booth said, reaching out to help Hodgins keep her standing, protectively putting his arm around her waist. And that caused Brennan to snap.

"Noooo!" she shouted, pushing Booth away from her, and stumbling backwards into Hodgins. "You can't take me home Booth. That's not what partners do. We aren't working a case, so you cannot give me a ride anywhere. Because that's not what partners do. I'm going to go to Hodgins' house and have a drink or ten. I'd invite you to come along, but we didn't just finish a case, so we can't drink together either. Because that's not what partners do. Oh, hi Jessica!" she shouted to the blonde woman who had followed behind the man who had abruptly ended their rather pleasant conversation to seek out another woman.

"Oh, Jessica, you've got yourself a great catch there. You do. It's probably true love. I'm sure it'll last too. For like 30 or 40 or 50 days. Maybe 30 minutes. You never know, he's quite fickle like that. You two," she said, waving her finger between Booth and the blonde, "you two have an excellent night, satisfying all those biological urges. Me, I'm going to go drink some more."

"Just get her in the car," Angela whispered loudly and forcefully to her husband, opening the back door as he tried to lower Brennan's head inside the car during her tirade.

Brennan was still mumbling something she couldn't quite make out when Hodgins got her inside and shut the door. He ran around to the driver's side as Angela approached Booth. "I asked you to turn around and go Booth. I don't know how much of tonight she'll remember in the morning, but I swear if you don't erase this whole episode from your memory, I'll teach you a few things my Daddy taught me when it comes to people who don't listen. And we're Texan Booth, so you should be justifiably scared."

"And Jessica… go home. Alone. Please," she said, her eyes pleading with her friend to walk away. Jessica uttered a "Goodnight Angela" as she did just that, flagging down a cab and getting in while Booth watched Angela get into the passenger's seat and the car drive away.

* * *

Thanks to Mali Bear's Buddy for the read through and advice on this alcohol-laden piece. : )

_**So… I'd love to know your thoughts (review button below)! There's a shot of tequila in it for you! (Unless you're underage, for I cannot contribute, even in pretend, to underage delinquency. You younguns can take a shot of Coca-Cola if you must. Just one though… :)**_


	5. The Need in the Now

**Anyone else finding it hard to be angry after the lovely _Blackout in the Blizzard_ a couple of weeks ago? Damn… I wanted to be mad a little while longer. So, I'm having to revisit old S6 episodes to recall that anger (I repeat I'm "rewatching" Hannah episodes to write this stuff... I know you feel my pain!)**

**The jury's out on just how "angry" this one is. As my wonderful friend and willing beta for this piece, **_**ProfeJMarie, **_**pointed out, it invoked feelings of sadness for her rather than anger. But I think anger is definitely one of the many emotions B&B deal with in this piece, so I'm sticking it here, even if it makes all of us sad. Did I mention I find getting angry hard right now? (Damn _Blizzard_...) : )**

**This is my imagined fallout from the Doctor in the Photo, which picks up 10 days after that night in the car (before the next episode), in songfic style. I've never done this before, so you'll have to tell me what you think… And probably stick "**_**Need You Now**_**" by **_**Lady Antebellum**_** on repeat while you read it for the 'whole effect.' I'd like to believe there was more inner turmoil as fallout for both B&B from that car conversation than what we got to witness. Because… there just had to be, right? **

* * *

_**Picture-perfect memories scattered all around the floor**_

It's a familiar place. Familiar surroundings. Familiar faces even after years passed.

More importantly, familiar temptations.

_**Reaching for the phone 'cause I can't fight it anymore**_

It's been nearly two weeks since he's talked to her. He flips his phone in his hand, hovering over "2" which still speed dials her phone.

_**And I wonder if I ever cross your mind?**_

He's had no reason to call her. And if he did, he can't fathom what he'd say. So every night, he ends up here. This place that brings him back to that first night…

_**For me it happens all the time**_

Toss. Turn. Toss. Turn. She throws the covers off of her body, frustrated as they try to tangle her into submission, tying her down to an objective she can't reach. The digital display near her head reads "1:06." She'll sleep eventually. It's not like it was before, with someone inside of her head. Now, it's just her own grief and regret keeping her awake.

_**It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now**_

She knows she'll fall asleep. But until she does, she stares at her phone. Willing it to ring. Willing herself to dial an all-too-familiar number. Just to hear his voice or his breathing into the line would be enough.

_**Said I wouldn't call, but I lost all control and I need you now**_

It doesn't have to be much. No substance. No conversation. She needs nothing but to gain the knowledge that if she still calls him, he'll answer.

_**And I don't know how I can do without**_

He hasn't called her. She hasn't called him. The distance between them is greater than when they were living worlds apart. She is an independent, self-reliant woman who doesn't need anything from anyone.

_**I just need you now**_

Or that's what she continues to tell herself in hopes that her metaphorical heart will finally agree with her mind.

_**Another shot of whiskey, can't stop looking at the door**_

The glass is heavy in his hand. Every night, he drinks enough to need a cab to leave. His car stays here each night to give him an excuse to leave his bed early and retrieve it every morning. He sips slowly as the minutes tick away, eyes darting between the pool table and the door.

_**Wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before**_

Every time the door opens, there's a second of overwhelming emotion that washes over him. Fear that it's her. Hope that she's come for him. Disappointment when he realizes that this time, he made this choice. Fear that he's made the wrong choice. Hope that whatever may come, he's strong enough to fix it. Disappointment that as the door swings close, it again wasn't her walking in for him.

_**And I wonder if I ever cross your mind?**_

She's pacing now. Walking off the pent up energy that's keeping her awake. Except she's not energized at all. She's exhausted. She's sad. And dammit, she's pissed off. He's moved on and she needs to as well. But in order to do that, she's going to have to stop thinking about him first.

_**For me it happens all the time**_

She resigns herself to knowing that tonight won't be the night she succeeds. Putting her coat on over her pajamas, she walks out into the darkness.

_**It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk and I need you now**_

He grabs the first cab to drive up to the curb and gives the address. He's not sure, but he thinks this cabbie has picked him up before this week. If so, he knows the drill. He knows this fare will include two stops.

_**Said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now**_

Every night, he makes it a little bit further. The first night, he couldn't get out of the cab. By the fourth night, he made it to the entrance of her building. The seventh night, he made it to the elevator before he turned around and on the eighth night, he sat in the stairwell after only climbing a flight.

_**And I don't know how I can do without**_

She doesn't even call the cab company anymore. This particular cabbie ceased trolling for fares, opting to wait outside her building this time every night. He'd take her to the same place. She'd stare at the door while the meter ran. At first, barely a minute passed as she stared before asking him to take her back. Last night, 45 minutes passed before she made the same request. One night, she got out of the cab and ran her hand over a SUV parked outside this bar, before she returned to the cab and he drove her home. He never asks questions. Because for someone so troubled by _something_, he felt the least he could do was continue to offer her the privacy of someone who didn't question her need for it.

_**I just need you now**_

Tonight, she surprises the cabbie. Tonight, she exits the cab as soon as they arrive. She stands there for a moment and the cabbie can hear her breathing. Surprising them both, she confidently walked into the bar all on her own. Tonight is different, but out of a loyalty the cabbie didn't know he possessed until that moment, he flicks off his 'ready' light and waits there, just in case.

_**It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now**_

Like last night, he makes it all the way up her stairs. This time, he makes it to her door. Maybe tonight, making it this far would be enough. Maybe tomorrow night, he'll be brave enough to knock.

No. _No_, if he can't knock on her door tonight, he is done. He isn't coming back to this building. He isn't going back to that bar. If she won't answer now, it will be an answer all on its own. He deserves a shot at happiness, dammit. And tomorrow, one way or another, with one woman or another, he is going to grab for it.

_**And I said I wouldn't call but I'm a little drunk and I need you now**_

She looks around the familiar place. She recognizes the surroundings, but none of the faces. Not a single one.

Confused and maybe embarrassed, she walks over to the bar to sit for a moment. She was so sure he would be here. While the seat next to hers is empty, a whiskey glass, half full, sits on top of a crumpled napkin. And the napkin nearly covers a familiar something.

She picks it up and twirls it in her fingers. Answering a question she didn't ask, the bartender tells her the patron already went home.

_Home_.

She pockets it, walking out the door, back into the darkness.

_**And I don't know how I can do without**_

He tries. He knocks. He waits. He bites back the fear that something is wrong since she isn't answering. He chalks it up to fate telling him his future lays elsewhere. In his bed. In his home.

He hasn't been able to bring himself to return home in daylight hours since that night. He arrives long after midnight and departs long before any alarm rings. Daylight makes certain things real. He's a former sniper… he's used to hiding in the daylight and using the nighttime to his advantage.

He walks out of the building and toward the cabbie, who already knows the second address. He put his hands in his pockets and felt around for something that could bring him stability. _No more gambling, _he thinks. Tonight he is going home. And in the morning, when the sun rises and the alarm goes off, he'll still be there.

_**I just need you now**_

They both arrive at separate homes at the same times. They both slip under their separate covers and watch their separate ceilings above them, willing sleep to find them, as they have every night these past two weeks.

It's improbable and unscientific and they'll never discuss this period of time, so the phenomenon will never be known to either of them.

Toss. Turn. Toss. Turn.

The digital display near her head reads "4:47 am."

And unbeknownst to two souls, struggling to unite or separate for good, laying in two separate beds on separate sides of town, sleep claims them both at the same time.

_**Yes I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all**_

There were important lessons that she gained from those two weeks. She couldn't fix this… this _thing_. Not on her own. And maybe she'd need to accept that some things, once broken, couldn't be fixed.

They finally faced each other, both managing to erase nearly two weeks of utter pain and discontent from their faces. They answered one another with pacifying responses that allow them to keep the one string that tethers them to one another, the last thread that keeps the center from spiraling apart at subatomic speeds intact.

She noticed him looking for it one day, as he often did subconsciously. Normally, it was soon after a moment he'd had to speak face to face with her. She was his greatest stressor now. She wanted to feel some sense of pride in that part of her that was angry with him, but the guilt overwhelmed her.

He knew where he left it and she knew where she found it and acknowledging either of those things meant acknowledging the turmoil, the frustration, the anger and hurt they simultaneously experienced together yet separate, from a time they both swore to put behind them.

They never spoke of it. Even days later, when he walked into his office and found his lost poker chip sitting in front of his chair, he knew they never would.

_**Oh baby I need you now**_

* * *

**I was completely blown away by the reviews on the last chapter (and it's possible there's a drunk-Brennan-aftermath follow-up piece in the works for that previous chapter). In the meantime, I'd love to know your thoughts on this one! *hugs* **

**And bonus points if you can determine the significance of 1:06 am. :)**


	6. The Fault in the Hypotheses

_**Remember how I said The Blackout in the Blizzard took away all my anger? And all I could manage over the hiatus was a sad-trying-to-be-angry piece? Well, it's your lucky day, because The Feet on the Beach reawakened some of my season six rage! **_

_**I'm not saying every episode needs to be a life-changing, soul-searching episode. And I certainly don't expect something of BitB's caliber anytime soon. But did one of my new top 10 episodes really have to be followed with an episode that was 76 percent crap and 110 percent out of character for everyone? Me thinks not…**_

_**Folks on Twitter were clamoring for me to yell at insert character here after this episode, so I lumped the last two scenes into this retake, placing everyone in the Founding Fathers for post-case drinks (cause we know Booth hasn't stepped foot into the lab in quite some time)… and the whole cast in attendance is in for a verbal spanking. And this IS dialogue-wordy, so… paddles ready…**_

* * *

"You were pretty mean to him Bren. I mean, the man is so stressed out he can't even use his arm," Angela said.

"Bones, come on, here's your chance. Just tell the man you're sorry…" Booth said, nudging her shoulder and nodding his head in the direction of Dr. Filmore, who was preparing to leave.

Brennan looked at them incredulously, before shaking her head and walking over to the doctor.

"Oh god, what now Dr. Brennan? Have I embarrassed you, in some way Dr. Brennan? I know the only reason I was here was because you wanted the feet that I possessed.

"Dr. Filmore…"

"Do you deny it? Was it my expertise you sought when you called?"

"No. It wasn't."

"You are brilliant, Dr. Brennan, I won't deny it, but you are also close-minded and a thoughtless person.

"Yes, I have heard that before, which is why I wanted to address the issue of the article I wrote in the journal."

Oh," Filmore moaned.

"While I don't believe that forensic podiatry should be recognized as a separate specialty, I was remiss in my article, not to have noted your remarkable skill and expertise. You are exceptional and I strongly doubt we would have solved this case without your help. For that, I am very grateful and pleased to have had the opportunity to work with you.

"Many of my colleagues have said they believe I owe you an apology for discrediting your article. I think you should know that while I stand by my assessment, as long as you continue to disagree with it, I encourage you to write a new article defending your stance, countering my arguments to defend your beliefs. I understand that I have offended you with my position on the subject; however, the best scientists don't give up. I stand by what I have said and will continue to do so until someone else provides an argument to convince me otherwise. I am one of the foremost forensic anthropologists in the world, but I am not the final word on scientific discussion. If you believe that forensic podiatry should be considered a field of its own, rather than a subset of forensic anthropology, than I will look forward to reading a new piece from you defending your beliefs and refuting mine. I don't know that you would be successful, but if you really believe you're right and I'm wrong, at the very least, you should try."

She extended her right hand to shake and Dr. Filmore extended his right hand, not knowing until this point that use of your right arm for a man was directly related to have the balls to act like a man. Through Dr. Brennan's final speech, indicating that the man should grow a set, use of his arm magically returned and Dr. Filmore skipped off into the netherworld of situations solved.

"That was nice, Bones, but you know it wasn't quite an apology?" Booth said, breaking the team's silence as Brennan rejoined them to gather her things.

"You know what? I feel a level distress given that each of you seem to be disapproving of my handling of this situation," she said, looking from face to face in the group, before landing back on Booth. "There have been many times since I have known you when I have turned to you for guidance as to the right thing to say or do in personal or emotional situations. But, on this subject, you are wrong. I am an expert in my field, I stand by my well-researched and articulated conclusions and I do not owe Doctor Filmore an apology.

"I am a scientist. And the reason I am held in esteem, the reason the FBI values my service to their organization is because I am the best at what I do. And I am not the best at what I do because someone handed it to me. I didn't wake up one day and announce to the scientific community that I'm going to be the best forensic anthropologist there is, and they simply said 'okay.' I have worked incredibly hard to establish my place in my field, just like I worked hard to justify my position that forensics podiatry is not a legitimate field of its own. It is at best a subset of my field and while I do acknowledge that Dr. Filmore has a great talent for the work he does, being good at what he does doesn't make his argument more valid. If I am wrong and Doctor Filmore is right, I look forward to reading his justification and having the rest of the scientific community join me in acknowledging that. But my argument against is stance is not invalid just because Doctor Filmore's feelings are hurt…"

She paused to take a breath. "There may not always be absolute conclusions throughout a person's life, but in science we accept that there are absolute truths, until such absolutes are proven otherwise. And in this case, I am right and he is wrong. And I would think there are other members on this team who would agree with that way of thinking, scientifically, rather than rebuke me for harming another scientist's ego."

She turned her attention away from Booth, and in her best teaching voice, asked, "Dr. Hodgins, can you explain to me how a hypothesis works?"

Suddenly under the spotlight while being quizzed by the professor, Hodgins stuttered his answer. "Uh… a hypothesis is a hypothetical conjecture. It's an idea or belief based primarily on deduction rather than adequate evidence."

"And Dr. Saroyan, how does one test the accuracy or inaccuracy of a hypothesis?"

Cam sighed before answering, "You repeatedly test your hypothesis to prove or disprove it, usually through experimentation."

"And when your experiment fails, what do you do?" Brennan asked.

"You reformulate your hypothesis, and test it again," Cam replied.

"Yes. Doctor Filmore hypothesized that his field is a science of his own and hypotheses are only strong when they can survive challenges to its legitimacy. If Doctor Filmore is a scientist, I expect him to understand the most fundamental principles of scientific inquiry. First, he stated his hypothesis, once, then I refuted it, and he has yet to retry or retest his theory on a vast scientific community. If his hypothesis can't handle my critique, if he can't contest or defend the points I made, then his hypothesis is, by definition, a failure. And everyone here is acting like it is my fault that he doesn't have the resolve to defend his position. Honestly, if he can't bare the pressure of scientific scrutiny without incurring a physical ailment, he's better off finding something else to do with his time. Doctor Filmore was wrong. And as a representative of my science, it was my duty to say so. I didn't intend to hurt feelings or paralyze anyone. I just told the truth."

After another breath, she continued. "So, I find that I take exception to your statements that being factual makes me 'mean.' I'm the best at what I do for a reason. I have often dealt with jealousy, resentment and cruelty among my peers, but I never considered I would have such issues among the group of people before me. I was taught and trained to do what I do in conditions where my supervisors demand nothing but the best work, incontrovertible results, and I know it is a lot to live up to when I demand it as well. It's why I've always found it refreshing to work with this team, with people like Dr. Hodgins and Dr. Saroyan who, like me, are very good at what they do. Angela, who is an immensely talented artist, Booth who is considered by his superiors one of the best agents the bureau has to offer, and Doctor Sweets, who while I don't always agree with the legitimacy of your field, constantly strives to prove me wrong. That's the difference between you and Doctor Filmore, Doctor Sweets. Psychology may be a soft and often inaccurate science, but it's your constant strive to prove to me and others its usefulness that makes you an asset to the people you work with.

"I assumed, wrongly apparently, that those of you here know me well enough to know that I expect the best and perhaps wouldn't judge me for my expectations. My demanding standards and knowledge, combined with the various skills of this team have helped us solve many cases over the years. Doing our best work is how we get justice for victims and their families, and if wanting to do everything I can to make sure justice is served makes me cold-hearted and mean, than I suppose I will just have to accept your view of my character. But if I whined or cowered every time someone challenged something I have done or said, I would be ineffective at my job. I honestly believed you understood that. I apologize for my incorrect assumptions and, as Booth put it, my apparent inability to 'be a person,' like the rest of you."

"Bones, that's not what… what I meant to say was…" Booth started, but he was swiftly cut off by Brennan while receiving dual hits from Angela and Cam.

"You'll have to excuse me, for I have other work I need to see to and students who need to be challenged so that I am not responsible for sending more Doctor Filmores out into the world, unable to defend their work to their peers."

"Bones!" Booth shouted, simultaneously with variations of Brennan uttered by the rest of the group to gain her attention as she turned and walked out of the bar.

Brennan moved quickly down the sidewalk and hailing a cab as she went. Booth had followed her out, but was steps behind her when the cab came to a stop and she opened the door. Halfway in, Booth caught her, grabbing her arm to stop her progress into the cab. "Bones, wait…"

"Don't, Booth," she said, snatching her arm from his grasp. "Out of everyone in there, I assumed you, at the very least, would understand my work, my motivations. Obviously, that was a hypothesis that has failed and I will need to rework it for the future considerations."

Brennan got into the cab and shut the door, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. This time, as Booth watched her drive away, she didn't turn back to look at him.

* * *

**_I know, that last part with the cab was a little mean, but by the time I got to the end of this story, I was even angrier for Brennan than when I started. So, suck it Booth. And maybe more to the point, didn't this episode feel completely out of context, re: where the show and its characters seemed to be going? It was back to attitudes reminiscent of a team just forming back in early season one. _**

**_On the bright side, this episode made me angry! Maybe next week's will be better, and in that case, I really ought to get to finishing up some more "Anger" pieces before that time comes. So, stay tuned this week…_**

**_Thanks to OwlStory and Mali Bear's Buddy for the read through! :D_**


	7. The Scream in the Night

**Miss me? ... ****Oh… that's okay. It's not like I was **_**expecting **_**you to miss me or anything… for real though, how about a new one-shot?**

**This piece formed sometime after the Blizzard episode… which I loved… but before the "Finder" episode, when things seemed to take another turn in the "WTF" direction yet again for B&B (in my opinion at least- yes, others disagree). It's not a Brennan-gets-drunk-and-gives-a-speech installment… though I have noticed y'all seem to like those the best. But this one deals with Booth's lingering anger… and what I hope is a real reaction Brennan will get to have to it.**

**This is a little different, style-wise, for me… gracious thanks go to the lovely Mali's Bear Buddy for her helpful cleaning up of my haphazardly written thoughts! : )**

* * *

Waiting.

She's familiar with the action, or lack thereof, as a concept.

Waiting isn't just frustrating. It's confusing. It's annoying. It's tiresome.

She realizes she's spent more time waiting for something, some_one,_ than she ever expected to spend on anything, ever. She doesn't wait around for things to happen. She doesn't wait for answers to questions. Her expectations are high and the people who exist in her world know they have to move quickly to keep up with her.

So waiting? She's not exactly built to wait.

But she doesn't know what else to do.

She can't _not_ wait, after all.

She can't leave this waiting place.

"_You okay, Dr. Brennan?"_

"_Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" _she says coolly_. _

"_You've been awfully quiet tonight. Something about the case still bothering you?" _

"_The case is solved, Sweets. Everything is fine," _she responds, starring at her drink on the bar.

"_So, if not the case, then it's something else?"_

She stares into space. She knows the answers to his questions. And she knows he knows she knows. But knowing them and acknowledging them can be two very different tasks.

"_Yeah. Sure Sweets… something else."_

She can feel him studying her. He's trained in what to say and what to do in situations where people seem lost. But he remains silent. She knows he wants to say something, but he doesn't form the words.

She slides off her stool, uncharacteristically patting his arm in a silent gesture of thanks for his concern and grabs her coat before walking out the door.

She's already across the street, far enough away to think she's made a clean escape, when she hears him.

"_Bones, where ya going?"_

She stops in her tracks and turns, but she can't bring herself to really look at him. She can't tamper her fear that when a person begins to break, metaphorically, the cracks are visible to others. As ludicrous as it sounds, she fears if he sees her eyes, he'll see her crack as well.

"_For a walk,"_ she states simply.

He hesitates. He shuffles his feet. She hears his silent hesitation louder than his actual response.

"_You want company?" _

This almost gives her hope. Almost, until he says…

"_After all, it's late. I know you can take care of yourself and all, but walking alone is just asking for trouble."_

It's chivalry, at the very least, that prompts his request. At the most, it's a desire to spend time with her cloaked in chivalry. And right now, at this moment, she's simply tired of the surreptitious nature of their relationship.

"_No," she responds firmly. "I just need some time to myself." _

She can hear the slight grin in his voice as he asks_ "Time and space?"_

"_Yes." _

She manages to turn toward him, schooling her features in impassiveness to see his reaction. She doesn't want him to hurt, yet a small part of her hopes he hurts just a little bit. The part of her that doesn't want to push him away quickly follows up with a _"See you tomorrow, Booth,"_ in an attempt to reassure him.

Then she walks away. He stands there watching her. Not following. Not prodding. Not propelling into action.

It's better this time. At least he followed her outside. That's progress.

It's not that she wants him to chase her – she's not a woman who would want to be chased, of course. She really does _need_ space. The space to breathe because she has been spending far too much time holding her breath, while waiting for something that might never come. She acknowledges it might never happen and the fact that he doesn't follow her further confirms he's still not ready. He's still angry.

She begins to wonder if he'll ever be ready. She has to hope he will. Because… is there another option?

She feels this pressure in her chest. A heavy burden on her shoulders. A tension in every muscle, weighing down on every bone in her body. She'd be the first to tell you a person could not spontaneously combust, but now she's knows why people think it's possible.

So she walks. It always amazes her that people disappear from the monuments in the city at night. Thousands of people descend upon these tourist attractions during the daylight, but few people bother to see them lit up at night. It's quiet. It's peaceful. Booth might say it felt patriotic. It's …

She can't bring herself to focus on the city's majestic outline tonight. Not when there are so many other thoughts crowding her mind.

Angela always tells her she needs to be bolder and act on her feelings. But instead, she's always respected his wishes.

He's drawn his lines. More than once. She's always stood behind them and accepted what he's said at face value. Then everything changed. Her equilibrium was shifted, the rug was pulled out from under her and she waits.

Angela also told her once that sometimes she feels the need to scream out loud. When the world gets to be too much, when there are voices inside your head shouting and the left brain is warring with the right brain and you can't decipher people's expectations of you much less quiet all the noise down to figure out what it is that you really want, despite the shouting…

She looks around her for any human signs of life. She closes her eyes and listens for any sounds. Hearing none, she faces the Potomac. And… _she_ _screams_.

Turns out a security guard isn't that far from her and comes running toward the sound. He looks quite displeased as she waves him off with a brisk apology.

Angela was right. Despite the flush she feels at having anyone witness this moment, screaming out loud was cathartic.

Booth needs time. The clock ticks on and she waits. There isn't any anything she wouldn't do for him. So not waiting for him… it's not even an option.

She takes a deep breath to gather herself and continue walking home. She'll be strong and accept his snide behavior even though he says he's not angry. She'll be strong and accept his unwillingness to trust her like he used to. She'll be strong and accept that the things he says and does now might change one day when he's done being angry.

When the waiting gets to feel like too much, she could always just scream again.

The fault in strength is that even the strong can break. Eventually.

Imperviousness had its perks.

* * *

**A commoner gets to marry the future king of England in a few hours... my friends and I all thought _we'd_ marry William when we were younger. Perhaps, as a consolation, you might leave a review? :) (got guilt?)**


	8. The Aggression in the Partnership

_**Hey all! I feel like after some comments on the last piece, I should clarify that these "Anger" pieces are all unrelated one-shots. That's all.**_

_**There's a few things you should know about this piece. First, it's as well-researched as anything written in less than two hours can be. I pulled up a beginner's kickboxing lesson on my cable's On Demand menu and kickboxed my way through the video twice, making sure I got the lingo right and that the moves I list were doable to a novice like myself... so they should be easy-peasy to the characters below. If you struggle picturing a physical fight, go watch a kickboxing lesson on YouTube first.**_

_**This takes place post-that contrived proposal, but before the following episode. Let's assume Brennan had some things she wasn't quite saying (and sadly never did). :)**_

_**My thanks to LadyJaneGrey777 for her betaing… she's a newbie to fanfic writing, but her first fic takes an excellent direction into the land of "what ifs" for season six and includes a small (but always makes me giggle) X-Files crossover aspect to it. Seriously, go read it (she's on my Favorite Authors page…).**_

* * *

She sensed him before she saw him. She made a note that later, she should investigate how it's possible to recognize the way someone opens a door, when the sound of a door opening has no correlation to the person opening it, but she did know and a turn of her head confirmed she was correct.

She looked to the woman she'd been sparring with and excused herself before walking across the crowded studio to him.

"What are you doing here, Booth?" she asked with an annoyance in her tone that he couldn't miss.

"There's a body. And a crime scene. Therefore, I need my partner," he said, sounding equally annoyed.

"You could have called," she responded, crossing her arms. "I would have met you there."

"I tried calling. A few times. Finally, I got a hold of Angela and got her to tell me where I could find you… I didn't know the Jeffersonian had a gym, much less classes like these," Booth said, looking around the room. "Boxing, Bones… really? I thought you were already an expert in, like, three kinds of martial arts?"

"It's kickboxing actually, and four."

"Four…" Booth said with a question in his voice.

"While in Maluku, I took several lessons from a Kuntao Master. I've now mastered four types of martial arts."

"Ca-what?"

"Kuntao. It's roughly translates to mean "Way of the Fists. I only have 10 minutes left in this class. If you text me the address, I'll finish up and meet you there."

"It's alright, I can wait."

"Booth, my car is already here, I'll have to drive anyways."

"So, I'll wait and we'll drive together, like we always do when I pick you up from the lab."

"Not lately," she muttered while refastening her gloves.

Either Booth missed her comment or chose to ignore, because he swung back on his heels and gestured toward the floor. "Go on Bones, time's a'wasting."

Brennan sighed, partially because she was not willing to start an argument over why people who are "just partners" don't wait around or follow someone to a crime scene because of a grandiose alpha male need to protect her at every moment. And partially because just a week ago, when Hannah was still around, he wasn't nearly as burdened to act in kind. Her final hesitation came from what she knew would end up being her partner's eventual need to critique what happened next.

She refastened her headgear and made her way back to the woman she was sparring with. They began to trade blows and the other woman got two good knocks to Brennan's clavicle region before Booth decided to step in.

"Whoa, Bones. Haven't you paid attention to anything I've been teaching you all these years? Your stance is all wrong."

"Booth…" Brennan started with an eyeroll, but Booth quickly continued.

"See, here, you need to stand like this when you're facing an attacker. Like this…" he said, demonstrating by grabbing her shoulders and physically shifting her.

"But Booth…"

"No, Bones, I'm serious. We deal with dangerous people all the time, and you need to be able to defend yourself properly. I don't know what they taught you in your kungpao chicken class, but take it from a guy who's been on the streets, you're doing it wrong."

Brennan stopped herself from commenting when her sparring partner started to laugh. "I don't know, Doctor Brennan, maybe you should demonstrate your skills for him directly so he can _correct_ your ways."

She almost defended herself, until she caught the glint of humor in the woman's eyes. It would come to shock Booth later that day to realize that somewhere along the line, he missed that his partner had learned to recognize and wield the weapon of sarcasm effectively.

"Well, if I'm doing it incorrectly Booth, perhaps you should put on some protective gear and show me what I'm doing wrong."

Booth smirked, taking off his jacket while saying, "I don't really need protective gear, Bones."

"It's a class rule, Booth. If you want to participate, you need to put the gear on."

"Oh, okay professor," he remarked sardonically as the rest of the women in the room stopped what they were doing and freed up space in the center of the room, intently focused on the situation at hand.

Once he had the required gear on, he walked to Brennan. "Okay, Bones, so what you want to do when you throw your first punch is place your legs like this, leaning your weight on your back leg. You're going to jab with the fist that's opposite of that leg. And then, you should bring your other hand up to your face like this," he demonstrated, bringing her hand up in front of her chin. "It'll help you to block your face from some of those jabs she was getting in."

Booth looked at her feet, checking her stance while Brennan pursed her lips together to stay silent while the students in the class chuckled.

"Okay, so the ideal combo you want to work with is simple." Booth turned to face the whole class, beaming at the attention they were giving him. You want to 'jab,' then 'cross,' followed by a 'hook' from around the side, and then an 'uppercut' from underneath like this," he said as he was demonstrating the moves. "Okay, now you try it."

Brennan repeated her movements, but locked her elbows in a way that made her movements awkward as she went.

"No, Bones, you've got to loosen up. Come on, I know I've seen you throw a better punch than that at least once."

Brennan let out a slow breath at the insult, more than ready to show him exactly how kickass she was without his very _helpful_ guidance, but decided to play along for another minute.

"Try it again Bones… jab, cross, hook, uppercut," Booth instructed, as she faced him.

Brennan did just as he said, but her punches packed very little force.

"Ah, come on Bones, that was weak. Alright, I want you to think of me as a bad guy, some slimeball we're trying to put away, and really let me have it."

"You're a law enforcement officer Booth, not a murderer, so it would be illogical…"

Booth cut her off at illogical. "Okay, then don't think of me as a bad guy. Just… think of a time when you've been really angry at me, and focus all of your rage into your arms and fists… and then punch."

_Oh… well that's just too easy_, she thought.

She tried to hide the smirk on her face as she thought of all the things she could choose to be angry at him for. And she attacked.

Jab - _Just showing up here to demand my presence at a crime scene._

Cross - _needing to Coach me in kickboxing, which I've only been practicing since college_

Hook - _Hannah_, _Hannah, Hannah._

Uppercut - g_iving Ultimatums after 12-years-old psychologists dare you to…_

She repeated this series four times, each time faster and more forcefully, which seemed to throw Booth more off-guard each time. By the fourth set, she figured his brain had time to catch up.

"Don't forget Booth… this is a kickboxing class. It's not all about the punches," she said with a glint in her eye.

Jab. Cross. Hook. Knee spear.

Jab. Cross. Hook kick.

Hook. Kick. Uppercut.

Brennan continued her demonstration until she had him backed up to the edge of the mat. Then, she surprised him with an elbow uppercut, and in dodging it, he spun around to her backside with his back to the center of the mat. She spun to meet him, at which point she caught him with another jab and a cross hook. Then she grabbed his wrists and in a very Judo like manner, swept her leg behind his knees to throw off his balance and force his back to the floor. By grabbing his wrists, she ensured his landing would be much less abrupt for sake of his back, but still enough of a fall to hopefully knock his pride down a notch.

As Booth lay on the floor, breathless, he blinked a few times and looked up at his partner with wide eyes, towering over him, now registering the chuckles of the other women in the class, forcing his skin to flush into a deeper red.

"Is your back alright?" she asked.

He wiggled a little bit before breathing a "yeah."

"Anything else about my posture or technique you'd like to critique before we go solve a murder?"

"Nope. You're a lethal weapon. All good," Booth managed to get out, still trying to catch his breath.

Brennan turned to the group of students and said, "Okay, I suppose we can call it a night. See everyone next Tuesday."

Booth started to cough as he managed to sit up as the women gathered their things and said multiple "goodbye Doctor Brennan" on the way out. Brennan held out her hands and pulled him to his feet.

"You _teach_ this class?" he asked incredulously.

"There's this advanced electrophoresis particle separator that Hodgins really wants for the lab, and in trying to convince Cam what an asset the equipment would be for Hodgins' sake and the sake of solving cases, as the machine is portable into the field and can turn out results fairly quickly, she convinced me she'd work on securing the funding if I would take over teaching this class for one of the archeologists who left on a dig for 16 weeks."

"You _teach _this class. You're _certified_ to teach this class?" he repeated incredulously. "Then when I watched you… what was that about? And why can't Hodgins just by his own equipment?"

"Yes I'm certified to teach and it's a beginners' class Booth. Jill, the lab tech I was sparring with, tenses up anytime she thinks she's going to receive a blow. So I've been working with her, by going easy on her with my response, so she builds up the confidence in her own skills to handle herself in a fight. As for Hodgins, he could surely fund the purchase of the equipment he wants, but then he'd refuse to let anyone else go near it. We've had this issue with Hodgins before and he's not allowed to fully fund anything in the lab himself."

"So, you're giving of your time to help do something nice for Hodgins, while kind of doing Cam a favor. What have you done with my partner?" Booth asked cheekily.

Brennan spun to face him, ire in her eyes from his flippant comment. "I've been teaching this class for nearly three months now Booth. If there was really a significant change in my personality that led me to do something apparently so unthinkable as a favor for a colleague, I would have thought you'd pick up on it before now. So, I guess the better question is, 'what have you done with my partner?'" she shot back.

"Whoa… sorry Bones. Doing this for Hodgins and Cam… It's very nice… that's all. Guess I'm just surprised I didn't know about it until now." he responded sheepishly.

"We solve cases. Occasionally get drinks afterwards to celebrate the closing of a case. 'Just partners' remember?" she said mockingly, as she made her way to the door, leaving Booth to absorb the metaphorical slap he deserved.

Not wanting to leave it on such a sour note, as they made her way up the stairs in the direction of the lab in silence, she decided to extend a bit of an olive branch. "You know, if you really are concerned about any of my fighting techniques and how it might affect our work in the field, I am taking, as a student, another martial arts class on Thursday nights. You're more than welcome to attend and see if I possess an effective technique with this format as well. Perhaps, you could even participate to make sure my skills are sharp."

Booth cleared his throat, before responding, "What type of class is it?"

"It's a beginner Krav Maga class?"

"Krav Maga? What the hell is that?"

"No holds-barred Israeli-inspired street fighting," she said in a smooth tone.

Brennan smiled but refrained from chuckling as she heard Booth choke on a little air, while they continued walking side-by-side to go solve yet another case.

* * *

_**This one-shot is dedicated to Daffodil101, who had requested a piece where Brennan gets to physically beat on Booth. I had a couple of other scenarios I toiled with for a month, and then driving home from a wedding Saturday night, this one was like "Bam!" and I wrote it the next day. Hope it satisfied your "Violence Against (Season 6) Booth" craving. :D**_

_**Reviews are like love. *Hits play for The Contours' Hit Song* ... So "Do you love me? (Do you love me?)" ;)**_


	9. The Man in the Bug Man

**Greysisthecatspajamas suggested I get Hodgins and Booth to get stranded somewhere and have Hodgins yell at Booth, post-the-Hannah-breakup. Since I was physically incapable of focusing on anything today but tonight's episode of #Bones (who's gonna die, who's gonna die?), this happened over my lunch hour. And hey, it's even got Angry Booth for a change (but who are we kidding- he's been angry most of this season)!**

**Assume Hodgins didn't say sorry while examining the bikini in the soup vic and that this takes place just days after that hideous proposal. *shudders* - Enjoy!**

* * *

"Great, just great," Booth groaned, shoving the SUV into park after moving as far over as possible on the right median on the Interstate.

He jumped out of the driver's side and walked around to assess the damage. His passenger, who had also jumped out, chuckled at the damage. That was, apparently, the wrong sound to make.

"Hey, I didn't cause two flat tires," Hodgins said, with his hands in the air, metaphorically deflecting the agent's ire. "Though I bet I still get chewed out when I get to the crime scene late."

"Just, shut up, would you?" Booth said, pulling out his cell phone and dialing dispatch with his back to Hodgins.

After finishing the call, he turned around to find Hodgins on the phone as well. "Thanks, babe… Love you too," he said before hanging up.

"A tow truck will be here in an hour, I hope," Booth said, leaning up against the truck in defeat.

"I told Angela to let Cam and Dr. B know we'd be late. And she's calling my car service to come pick us up," Hodgins said. Booth gave him his best sometimes-I-forget-you're-a-rich-bastard glare and Hodgins shrugged his shoulders. "What, I rarely use it. But occasionally, it comes in handy… like in a two flat tires kind of situation."

Booth continued to glare until he looked away and slid down to sit on the ground next to one of those flat tires.

"Just great. Such a fitting addition to my already shitty week," Booth grumbled. Despite the traffic, Hodgins heard him.

"Sorry man, about… you know. Sorry that didn't work out for you."

"Son of a… what, did Bones announce my failed proposal to Hannah to the whole damn lab?" he yelled angrily.

"Actually, you might want to talk to your shrink about his need to gossip," Hodgins said bluntly, pausing before asking his next question. "So, Dr. B knows already?"

"Hannah called her that night. Like it's not bad enough she kicked me, but she has to send Bones to watch me while I'm down."

"I'm sure that wasn't her intent. Brennan's your best friend…"

"She's just my partner."

"Really? You're still parading that line of bullshit around? She's a lot more than just your partner, Booth. Deal with it."

"If I need a lecture, squint, I'll ask for one."

"Yeah, because people always ask for lectures when they need them." They both stayed silent for a few minutes, before Hodgins spoke again.

"Listen… Hannah said no. That sucks. I've been there. I've proposed a half dozen times, I've been engaged twice, to two women who both broke up with me, my first wedding was ruined by the announcement that my fiancée was already married and my second wedding took place inside a po'dunk jail cell. Trust me, you aren't the only man in the history of the world who's had problems with the woman he loves or had a woman say no to his marriage proposal. Not even close. And absolutely nothing happens like a damn fairytale."

Booth's jaw locked as he considered Hodgins' words. "I thought she could be the one," he muttered quietly after a couple of minutes had passed.

"Then, why'd you break up with her?"

"She said no! We obviously don't want the same things. I want to get married. I don't think that's so much to ask of someone who's really committed to me."

"That's just it though. If she's 'really committed' to you, what difference does a piece of paper make. And so what, if she said no. Angie said no to me four times before she proposed to me instead. I didn't break up with her every time she said no. Did I _want_ to get married? Yes. Did I _need_ to get married more than I needed Angela in my life? No way. If you really loved Hannah, one 'no' to a proposal wouldn't be the end of it for you guys. If you really thought 'she's the one,' you couldn't give that up so easily."

Booth scoffed. "It doesn't feel easy."

"You got burned. That's gonna sting for awhile. But you'll get over it and get your head back on straight," Hodgins said.

Booth chuckled dejectedly. "My head on straight? I don't know what straight looks like anymore. Or what happy feels likes without questioning whether it's real or not."

"All I can tell you is that it gets better. It gets better. But…" Hodgins hesitated before continuing. "Do you regret not marrying Rebecca?"

Booth shuffled his feet in the dirt below him. "Nah… I loved Becs, but it turned out, it just wasn't meant to be."

"And even though she said no, you don't count _not_ marrying her as one of your big mistakes in life."

"If there was a mistake, it was the way I proposed," Booth said with an actual laugh. "You know, the stick turning blue and all. I mean, I'd love to give Parker the kind of family he deserves with a full-time mom and dad, but Rebecca and I wouldn't have worked out even if she had said yes. It wasn't meant to be."

"So, odds are it wasn't meant to work out with Hannah either. You can be miserable about it for a long time, or work to get over it and get on with life."

"You don't think I should call her and beg her to take me back?" Booth asked sarcastically.

Hodgins snorted. "Listen, I'm not a girl, okay, so I'm gonna be as brief as I can when making this point. I'm sure you loved her on some level, but you barely know the woman. You met her in the desert and trust me, weird shit happens in the desert. But she came back here and you guys tried it for a couple of months in your real life. If it was meant to be, you wouldn't have let her go so easy when she said no. My opinion… you've already had the best thing you could hope for right under your nose for a very long time, and it wouldn't matter if Hannah was your freaking dream bride … it was never gonna work."

"Ha. See, now that's where you're wrong. You think… you know you're spending too much time listening to your wife about who I _am_ and _am not_ supposed to be with."

"Yeah, yet, I'm married and you're the one here complaining about…" Hodgins stopped speaking at Booth's glare, thankful his hand hadn't moved to his weapon yet.

A couple of minutes passed in silence before Booth nearly whispered, "She said 'no' too."

Hodgins uttered an extended, "Duuuuude. You proposed to Brennan?"

"No! No… geez. I asked her to give, you know, 'us' a shot. And she said no."

Hodgins snorted. "Let me guess? Pre-your other-side-of-the-world-sabbaticals, right?"

Booth nodded before Hodgins continued. "Well, that's… romantic. 'Hey, I know you're my best friend and work partner and surrogate family to my son, but I think we should try adding sex to our already complex relationship and see how that goes.' Can't believe that didn't win her over, first time around."

"It wasn't like that."

"Really? So you gave her a logical argument listing all the reasons why taking a step forward makes sense?"

"Love, relationships… they're not always logical."

"Yeah, but Brennan is. And you know this about her. Instead of expecting her to just do what you want, you should try to meet her in the middle. Explicate your reasoning before jumping to conclusions like, 'we should spend the rest of our lives together.' Which, by the way, she would never promise you she could do."

"Why?" Booth shouted, standing off the ground in a huff. "Why is that so much to ask of someone if they love you?"

"Because it's an impossible promise to keep. She can't promise you she'll love you next week, next month, in a year or 10 years. She doesn't know the factors that could change how she'll feel or how you'll feel. Things change, people change, every day. And you know better than anyone that, in Brennan's experience, people in her life don't always stick around. She could hypothesize that it's likely she'll still love you in 50 years, but she'll never be able to promise you that she will definitely love you until the day she dies because that day hasn't come yet. And Dr. B. is all about honesty… if she made that promise to you, she'd be lying to you. And Brennan doesn't lie. So, don't expect her to just so you can live out some 'happily ever after' scenario in your own head."

A few more minutes went by in silence before Booth let out a sigh.

"God… that's what she was saying. She… she said that she was a scientist. That she didn't know how to change for me."

Hodgins rolled his eyes. "Geez, she knows you better than _you_ know you."

Booth sat back down and put his head in his hands. "Is that what you want?" Hodgins asked after a few minutes passed.

"What?"

"Do you want her to change for you? I mean, yes, sometimes she's way too logical. She works too hard, so she wouldn't be the kind of woman to be at home every night. She's far too blunt, so you'd always have this want to apologize for her. She doesn't understand pop culture, she tells really bad jokes…"

"That doesn't… that stuff, it's just the stuff that makes Bones '_Bones_.' It's why she's one of a kind. She's a drop dead gorgeous genius who can write compelling novels and give amazing speeches in front of hundreds of people despite her completely awkward lack of social skills face-to-face. People think she's cold or uncaring, but they don't get her process. That she has to step back to be objective about a victim but that she still relates to every family who's lost someone because she's been in their shoes."

At that moment, a black town car pulled up behind the SUV, indicating their ride to the crime scene had arrived.

Hodgins stood up and wiped his jeans free of a subsoil accumulation of clay. "I'm only gonna say one more thing. In this whole conversation about the rejections you've received from women you purportedly love, it sounds to me like one of them never really rejected _'you.'_ You might want to consider that as work on your timeline of how long you'd like to stay angry about this whole Hannah thing. What you and Brennan had before you took off… well, it's pretty much a consensus around the lab that you guys had the most frustrating sexless marriage we all had ringside seats for. And you managed to be an old bickering married couple without official paperwork or checking a different box on your tax forms."

Booth sighed before nodding his understanding in Hodgins' direction.

"Also, let's not mention to anyone we've had this conversation," Hodgins said as he put his field kit in the trunk of the car. "I really don't want Sweets talking to me about Daisy, in any manner."

"Deal," Booth said with a chuckle. "Thanks for listening, Squint."

"Let's hurry… Dr. B's gonna have my ass for being late to scene," he said, turning to Booth with his hand in a 'stop' motion just before he got in the car.

"Actually, I reserve my right to mention this to Angie someday."

Booth rolled his eyes. "Get in the car."

"I'd get rewarded, heavily, for this conversation," he said with a glint in his eye as he got into the car.

"You know I carry a _loaded_ gun around, right… it's not just for show?" Booth said as he got into the town car.

"Yeah, yeah…" Hodgins muttered as the car pulled back on to the interstate.

* * *

**So… uh, your thoughts? Pretty please! I love them dearly with all my heart, so just clicky on the review button and let your fingers do the work.**

**Up next: Either an Angry Angela or an Angry Parker… intrigued? :)**


	10. The Hypocrisy in the Situation

**_Remember that point in time when Booth decided Hannah deserved to know everything… that Brennan had ever thought or felt… but made no admissions of his own? Where's that Catholic guilt now, jackass?_**

**_Gotta say… had the season ended a little more unhappily, this angry stuff would be easier to write. However, had the season ended a little more unhappily, I'd probably stop watching altogether. So… my muse takes the hit. I can live with that. :) But I feel like Booth's assine tendencies throughout season six need a little airing out and we've got 17 weeks until a new episode... Cue a kickass Doctor Brennan who's a little more in touch with her feelings. This takes place post-Blizzard (which, despite what follows, is still one of my favorite episodes of all times). : )_**

**_I'm never certain about my own writing, and if it makes sense to anyone but me… that's definitely true with this piece. To my beta on this one who doesn't want credit (is that cause it's actually really bad? :)) …thank you anyways. We all need a beta. #JenaFanficRules._**

**_Also, check my profile for a link to The Bones Baby Name Pool… If you're so inclined to bet in a non-gambling manner on those sorts of things!_**

* * *

This was one of those "you can cut the tension with a knife" scenarios.

It had been awhile since they'd been sitting on his couch, together.

In fact, he knew exactly when the last time they had both been in his office together, sitting before him. At least, before that day, they came a little more willingly and seemed to like him at least some of the time.

Today was an entirely different story.

Today, their presence was mandated. Because you can't have a screaming match in front of a half dozen agents plus a couple dozen lab techs and local law enforcement officials and not have such an event make it back to the top brass at the FBI. And when the bosses hear one of their top agents has been openly fighting with one of the agency's top consultants at a crime scene, they don't want to interfere themselves.

That's what FBI psychologists are for.

"One of you needs to speak up and tell me what happened," Sweets pleaded.

But the agent and FBI consultant before him maintained their stony focus, one to the wall and one to the window, as they both clung to their respective ends of the couch in order to put as much physical space between them as the furniture would allow.

"Doctor Brennan?" he asked, thinking she might be the easier egg to crack. The irony of that thought wasn't lost on him.

"Nothing happened, Sweets," Booth said, afraid that his very honest partner would outright answer the 12-year-old. He hazarded a glance at her out of the corner of his eye to see she hadn't flinched. Hadn't moved, hadn't reacted… hadn't taken off that stony look she had the last time she looked at him before leaving the crime scene earlier that morning.

"There are at least 30 agents, lab technicians and Jeffersonian employees who'd be willing to recount the events as they witnessed them for me. So, I can go to them, learn what happened from their points of view, and make my recommendations to your supervisors about the future of your working relationship. Or, you could talk to me. Because what happened today was definitely _something_ and if you're not going to tell me something, anything, I can use, your superiors are seriously considering ending your partnership."

"Maybe they should, Sweets," she said, barely above a whisper.

Now Booth and Sweets were both staring at her, eyes wide. "What?" he said, first in shock, before he scoffed. "You don't mean that Bones," Booth said dismissively.

"This isn't working. You are hostile and pushy and often just downright mean to me when we have to interact. My role in this 'partnership' has clearly been redefined by your actions as_ 'restricted to the lab and a crime scene when necessary'_, while yours is in the field. If I need a face-to-face conversation with you, I have to come to the Hoover, because you've only _graced_ the lab with your presence twice since we returned from our sabbaticals. It's clearer to me each day that what was our _partnership_ is no longer something you value. I am just a means to help you close an investigation, rather than an active participant."

"How could you think that?" Booth asked incredulously, but with an underlying tone that Sweets thought was laden with guilt.

"How could I not think that? I'm a scientist. All I have to go on is the evidence, and the evidence in this case is quite clear," she said in a most factual tone, still not making eye contact with either man.

"Well, maybe it would be easier for our professional relationship if you remained professional at all times," he said cattily, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"I'm going to need you to clarify how any of my behavior prior to you yelling at me in front of your colleagues and mine could be classified as unprofessional," she stated, her tone remaining completely even.

"All I'm saying is if you're going to discuss plans with your new boyfriend, it would be nice if you could wait until we're done at a crime scene."

"I'm not dating anyone," she said with a twinge of anger rising in her voice.

"You could have fooled everyone with the way you and Agent Sanders were around each other today."

"You mean the agent who caught me and kept me from falling when my foot slipped in the pit of mud that the decomposing body was laying in, so that I didn't disrupt the evidence at a crime scene?"

"It was a lot more than just catching you. He was like a needy puppy, holding your hand, looking over your shoulder as he watched you work."

"He was being observant and asking questions relevant to the case. I didn't find his presence inappropriate, since he was working, as was I."

"And then you guys were discussing your dinner plans."

"Again, no. _He_ was asking _me_ to dinner, which I politely rejected because I was at a crime scene and needed to transport the remains I was looking at back to my lab so I could solve a murder. However, I was again delayed from returning to my lab after finishing that conversation, because I received a berating from another FBI agent regarding the speed at which I was working to retrieve the remains out of a muddy pit, in the rain, further causing my delay. Much like this meeting is keeping me from the lab," she said, standing to make her way to the door.

"All I'm asking for is a little professionalism," Booth said, rolling his eyes are her retreating for, making a gesture toward Sweets that this was just more proof to make his point about her unprofessionalism.

"Then maybe the next time you have an issue with something you think I've done, you could be an ass in private."

Wanting to keep Doctor Brennan from leaving, Sweets spoke up at a near shout. "Agent Booth, why does it bother you if another man shows interest in Doctor Brennan…" he said, which still hadn't gotten Brennan to turn around, as she opened the door. So Sweets pressed on quicker.

"…especially since you made it clear to Doctor Brennan that you weren't interested in a relationship with her, when she revealed to you that she felt her initial reaction to your overtures may have been a mistake."

That last part caught her attention.

Booth looked at Sweets agape, not believing he had just brought that night up, barely having a moment to react before he heard the door slam shut.

Both Booth and Sweets jumped at the sound, but Booth visibly relaxed a bit while Sweets remained wide-eyed and fearful of what was to come. Booth's problem was he thought the slamming of the door meant his partner had walked out, which would give him a moment to recover from this and beat on Sweets for starting this whole mess with his poking and prodding.

Sweets was wide-eyed because Brennan had slammed the door with her still in the room and was now standing behind Booth with a kind of anger in her expression he had never seen present in the anthropologist features before.

She didn't walk back around the couch. In fact, she made no noise at all, not even enough for a sniper-trained Army Ranger to pick up on, until her hands were resting on the back of the couch. He jumped, letting out a yelp as he felt her arms extending pressure on the couch, and she leaned down so that her voice was level with his ear while standing behind him.

"It was one thing when I had to _accept_ your need to tell Hannah what I said. But you told _Sweets_ too? This, coming from the man who once bit my foot off for telling his boss that he didn't like eggs in his meatloaf because they reminded him of eyeballs. I get that my timing was terrible, but I've never lied to you Booth, and I wasn't about to start, not then, not ever. I don't lie. You'll have to forgive me, for assuming what was ours was _still ours._"

"Bones, I only told Sweets because…"

"I haven't shared that conversation with anyone else, including Angela, my best friend. It was private, it was personal, between you and me. You used to be someone I could trust. 'What's goes on between us is ours' remember?"

"You can trust me! I told Hannah because she had the right to know and I told Sweets because…"

"I. Don't. Care," she said with an eerie calmness that made Sweets squirm in his seat. "I don't care about your reasoning, I don't care…" she said, pausing. Something in her eyes, in her expression changed, and Booth knew what it was before he could name it, much less stop it. It was defeat, plain and simple.

"I'm done caring," she said, barely above a whisper, before pushing off the couch and turning to leave. "I'm just done, period." And with that, the door opened and closed faster than Booth could round the couch.

He paused at the door, the slamming of the door and the look on her face nearly paralyzing him. "What do I do?" he whispered, mostly to himself. But he remembered Sweets was still in the room and turned to look at him, a plea for direction in his eyes.

"I don't know," was all Sweets could say.

* * *

When his feet allowed him to move, Booth tore out of the room, brainstorming what words could act as the metaphorical sledgehammer he needed to tear down that wall of cool, calm, purely rational scientist she started rebuilding before his eyes, a wall that only took him seven years to break down to begin with. Things had been better lately. He thought things had been getting better. But then he saw Sanders talking to her and hovering around her and she laughed and smiled…

He couldn't remember the last time he made her smile, really smile at him, because of him, for him. Despite being better, it was simply a "better than it was last week" kind of better. Not a return to them. Not nearly enough to be satisfactory. She smiled a real smile and it was because of someone who wasn't him. And something inside him just… snapped.

He darted for the elevators, but immediately unwilling to wait long enough, he headed for the stairwell, and bolted down seven flights of stairs toward the parking garage, hoping to catch her before she left. He called dispatch, which patched him through to the garage attendant and told him to prevent her from leaving until he reached the gate to the garage. He had to catch up to her. He had to… hell, he didn't know what he needed to do, but the woman who made up one half of the most important relationship he's ever had just said she was done with him.

That had to be enough motivation to get over his anger issues, right?

* * *

Sweets had followed Booth out of the room, steps behind him, and watched him dash down the stairs. Booth thought if he could just stop her from leaving, he'd fix it. Sweets' made a note to point out to the agent who could read suspects well-enough to predict their next moves that he no longer possessed the same senses when it came to his partner. He heard the elevator ding onto his floor from when Booth instinctually hit the button, and he dashed for the door and rode it five floors up. When the door opened, he broke into a run for the assistant director's office.

"Stop! No, Doctor Brennan, don't do this. Don't go in there, yet, please," Sweets pleaded.

He had walked into the AD's outer office in time to see Brennan speaking to his secretary Marjorie, who had the phone in her hand, likely calling the director and asking for time for Brennan to speak with him.

"Please, Doctor Brennan," Sweets pleaded, placing his hand on her arm.

She glared at him, for his nerve, his gall to chase after her, and even worse, that it was Sweets who knew what she was doing. Something about him making contact by grabbing her arm, however, softened her. She almost laughed when it crossed her mind that in the past, if a man had made the same gesture, she would have flipped him onto his back.

"You can come back and have this conversation with the director at any time. Right now, you're angry and you have every right to be. I just want you to be 100 percent sure this is what you want…" he said, pausing as noted that the receptionist looked at them with interest. He used the grip he already had on her arm to pull her away from the desk for privacy. "If ending your partnership is really what you want, it can wait until tomorrow. Hell, after what I just saw, I'll help make sure it sticks, if you want. But I want you to be really, really sure this is what you want."

Aside from a particularly hard swallow on her part, Brennan's face was void of emotion. Almost as if her personality had vacated her person. Sweets saw this as an opportunity to lead her away without getting his ass kicked.

"Come on, let's get out of here. We can talk, or not, but you don't need to be here right now," Sweets said, tugging her arm. She started walking with him without a fight. Sweets opted for a different route out of the building, using an elevator off the main lobby to descend from the building.

Brennan remained quiet the entire ride down, finally speaking when they reached the ground floor.

"My car is in the garage," she whispered, as Sweets took a more active role in directing her by putting his hands on both of her shoulders and guiding her forward.

"And right now, I bet Booth has security waiting for you to hold you until he reaches you. How do you feel about going for a walk back to the Jeffersonian?"

"You don't have to walk me out, Sweets."

"Just in case Booth spots you, I can run interference, giving you whatever time you need to get away, get space. Okay?" he asked, with a take-charge confidence that might have surprised her if she wasn't suffering from some sort of shock over her own actions.

Sweets walked her to a back door, and asked the security guard to check Brennan out at the front desk, handing him her visitor's pass. The delay in notifying the security guards at the front desk would buy Sweets more time to get her away from the building. Sweets kept his hands in place, guiding her by her shoulders in a near hug, as they made their escape.

* * *

He ran back down to the parking garage, coming out the door to see her car still parked in the spot she'd left it in. The garage's security officer shook his head 'no' when Booth looked to him, asking the unspoken question of where his partner had gone.

He ran back up to the front lobby, and searched for her. It didn't make any sense… if she didn't go back to her car and she didn't walk out of the building, then where in the building would she be…

Dammit.

He ran out of the elevator onto the twelfth floor, other employees nearly diving to get out of his path.

He ran into the director's outer office at full speed, and he heard the receptionist chuckle. "I figured I'd see you soon, Booth. What did you do to that partner of yours?"

Booth's face dropped. "Marjorie, is she in there right now?"

"Nope. Your Doctor Sweets prevented her from going in. Director never even knew she was here. They left a few minutes ago," she said, nodding toward the door.

"Thank you," Booth said as he sprinted out of the office. As he reached the elevator, he thought to try Sweets' office to see if she was there. He stormed, in, saw no sign of them and ran back out. Again, waiting for an elevator to return felt foolish, so he bolted down the stairs.

* * *

He'd sprinted from the Hoover toward the Jeffersonian on foot. She hadn't taken her car, and while his would theoretically be faster, D.C. traffic would likely waylay him.

Despite running, she still had a decent head start and he didn't catch her until she was walking up the steps of the Jeffersonian. He could see Sweets walking next to her, hands in his pockets, while she walked, looking straight forward and holding herself with crossed arms.

He doubled his efforts on foot to cross the mall and called to her as he neared the steps. While Sweets turned around with a look of defensiveness toward him that, on any other given day, he would have respected and appreciated on his partner's behalf, today, it was just annoying.

Brennan maintained her pace without falter towards the front doors while Sweets turned and stepped down the steps toward Booth.

"Sweets, not now," Booth barked as he reached the psychologist, who crossed his arms in front of him.

"Bones, we need to talk," Booth shouted, trying to side-step Sweets who was doing better than he expected at the task of blocking.

Brennan's hands hovered over the door handle, wanting to pull and retreat to her sanctuary.

"Come on Bones, I know you didn't mean what you said back there. Let's talk and we'll fix this."

She turned and looked at him incredulously. "Maybe I don't want to fix this."

"You don't mean that. You're just scared and running, like always."

"No, I'm not. But you… you're still mad at me," she said matter-of-factly.

"I told you, in my apartment, I'm not mad at you."

"Since you're apparently so willing to lie to me when it suits you, I'm comfortable concluding that that's another lie."

"Bones, I'm not…"

"Yes you are. You're still mad at me for what happened last Spring."

"I'm not discussing this in front of the kid."

"Oh, so if we left here, just the two of us right now, you'd be willing to discuss it?" Brennan looked at him intently and he looked away without saying anything. "That's what I thought."

She started to walk toward the door, before she turned on her heel back to face him. "You know, throughout our partnership, you've been telling me that I need to open up, that I need to show people how much I care, to give a little bit of myself to someone else to show them that I really understand. And I've listened Booth. I've always considered you the expert on these subjects, but the truth is, you are nothing but a hypocrite."

"A hypocrite? Me? A hypocrite." Booth repeated incredulously.

"Would you like me to get you a dictionary? Yes, Booth, you _are_ a hypocrite. I have to open up, I have to share pieces of me with you and the world but you rarely ever do the same. Not for me, not for anyone."

"That's rich Bones. You're one of the hardest people anyone can ever try to get to know. Your need to be purely logical, without any room for an explanation that might not fit into a neat and tidy scientific box," Booth said, making a tiny gesture with his fingers. "You insult people's beliefs and feelings constantly, without any thought given to how you might affect them. You use your logic to close yourself off to people which more often than not, makes you seem mean and thoughtless and c…" he stopped himself suddenly as he realized what he was saying.

"Cold? That's what you were going to say, right? That's what you thought of me that first case we worked together. And apparently, you still do." Brennan said, her voice flat.

Booth, kicking himself for going there, started to backtrack. "Bones, I wasn't…"

"Shut up, Booth," she said quietly, but with enough venom to make him flinch. "I may not let many people in, but the people I have let in, know me well. That's the problem with letting people get close to you. They know exactly what to say to hurt you best."

Booth crossed his arms, half in defense, half in defeat. "So, calling me a hypocrite was just you proving you know how to get under my skin."

"No, calling you a hypocrite was me telling the truth. In this partnership, I'm expected to open up and tell you how I'm feeling constantly. You're angry. I know you're angry. Sweets knows you're angry, everyone knows you're angry! Booth, you're just _mean_ now. And I know some of your anger was my fault. 'Was' being the operative word. Because since that night, you've dated, you've fallen in love, you've had a woman move-in with you and you asked her to marry you. And the fact that none of that worked out the way you wanted it to… that's not my fault. In some ways, I resent Hannah for just picking up and leaving. I resent Rebecca for being Parker's mother. Because you won't get mad at Rebecca because she _is_ Parker's mother and you can't get mad at Hannah because she's gone, so I'm taking the brunt of all of it because I'm still here. They left you and I'm still here, so it's my fault. Everything and everyone you're mad at, you take it all out on me. And taking the brunt of all of your anger… it hurts. And you not talking about your anger, not dealing with your feelings, whether you discuss them with me or someone else... That makes you a hypocrite."

"That's why I _talked _to Sweets…"

"About_ MY_ feelings, not yours!" she screamed in frustration, before composing herself again. "You don't hide your feelings as well as you think you do, but then days like today happen, when you just metaphorically explode. Had there been a clown at the scene, live or mechanical, it would have met an untimely end. I did nothing to deserve being berated at that crime scene, Booth. I did nothing to deserve that and the only person at the crime scene who could be classified as being unprofessional was _you_."

"Fine, I'll admit that _maybe _I overreacted to what was going on, but…"

"I'm still talking," she said so harshly that he physically took a step back in shock. "You know, there was a time when I was willing to accept that you were angry, and my role in the reasons you felt that way, but I can't be entirely to blame anymore. I'm tired of your snide remarks. I'm tired of you lying to me. And most of all…"

"What? What, Bones, get it all out, tell me all I've done to wrong you," he sniped.

Brennan tilted her head with a look of disbelief over her features, before shaking it. "That night, when I asked you if we could still be partners… I asked for the wrong thing. I didn't know…" she said, pausing.

"Since we got back, we've been partners. We still work together. But…what I should have asked for that night is if we could still be friends. I never… I didn't think those two things were mutually exclusive. I couldn't imagine…

"I've told you about my regrets that night. You know I have them. Given time, I was able to realize that. If I could go back and change it, I would. And I've never believed in thinking like that, because it's not possible. Why wish for something that could never happen? I can't change that night, Booth. But if I could… More than anything, Booth, I miss my friend. If I could go back to that night, I'd ask for my friend, not my partner," she said sadly. "If I could go back to that, as irrational an idea as time travel is, if I could only have one night to go back in time and change something, it'd be that night."

The both stood there in silence as Sweets racked his brain for what he could possibly say at this point. Brennan had been so open with her feelings and Booth appeared as if that honesty was beginning to crack him. He was staring at Booth, psychically imploring him to say or do something. But he stayed silent, allowing Brennan to continue.

"After Hannah left, you told me I had a choice. You told me that we could be partners or see myself out the door. Working with you, just being your partner while you display hostile contempt for me? I'd do just about anything for you Booth. I'd kill for you. I'd die for you. But this? I can't settle for this."

She sighed, all the fight left in her seemingly exhaled with that breath.

"Thank you for walking me back to my office, Doctor Sweets. Doctor Saroyan will be in touch with any updates on the case," she said to both of them or no one in particular, before she walked through the doors and disappeared from their sights.

Booth stood there for a full minute before he reached for the handle to the door to go inside. But he didn't open it.

Booth stood holding the door handle for nearly another minute, during which Sweets turned and walked away, leaving him there to decide what, if anything, he was going to do next.

* * *

_**Hey… this is an Angry series. Nothing in this thread ends over pie and milkshakes and sweet-baby-making-love. While I considered carrying this fight out for awhile, I've got a better, season seven fight I've been toiling with. So, this ending is what you get. Was it worth it? Are you still mad about Booth's need to spill all about Brennan's feelings only? Should I put away my writing quill? **_

_**Comment, complain, etc., with the review button. I'll love you for it always.**_ :)


	11. The Rules in the Relationship

**_Eeks… some of you guys are familiar with what writer's block feels like, right? I've had the illness for nearly two months now and posting this story is kind of a cheat… because I actually wrote most of it *months* ago. Like, it was one of the very first things I wrote for this Angry series. I think there's one more story left to post here, that I hope to find the juice to complete before November gets here, and then I'll put this amazingly therapeutic (for me, at least) series to bed and live in the happy land called Season Seven. Probably. God, I hope... And if I get with it, I have a couple of new series of stories I'd like to start posting soon… so, shoot happy thoughts of creative thinking my way!_**

**_This one is completely based on my anger and outrage at Booth (read: the show's writers)- who's always been such a good Dad- and his introduction of Hannah into his son's life. You don't just show up with a girlfriend and invite her to live with you before she's even met your kid. It was wrong and the show's writers disrespected that father/son relationship by doing so._**

_**Although it's based on an earlier Season Six episode, I couldn't stand to write anything else where Booth was still with Hannah, so this is a post-Daredevil piece. Enjoy? : ) My most humble thanks to the amazing Some1tookmyname for her mad beta skills and houseful of kids who helped Parker sound more like an 11-year-old and less like me (I sound at least 13 most days).**  
_

* * *

Seeley Booth is not a patient man. Sure, he could spend hours wearing down a suspect in an interrogation room without giving an inch. And as a sniper, he often spent hours, if not days without moving, waiting to spot his target through a rifle's lens.

But in general, waiting with nothing to do is not his strong suit. Which was why his shoulders were tense and there was a pacing tic to his walk as the schoolchildren before him scattered on to their buses or into their parents' cars. Fifteen minutes after the final bell announced the end of the school day and he had yet to spot his normally punctual son leaving the building.

Rebecca had called him an hour before school was to get out, asking him to pick Parker up. She had fumbled an excuse about something having come up at work and though Booth was suspicious of her tone, he wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to hang out with his kid. And as luck would have it, it was very much a paperwork day at the bureau.

His pacing turned into an impatient foot tap as he leaned against his SUV. A minute later, he spotted Parker walking out the door with a pretty brunette girl about the same age. Parker being friends with all of the girls in his class was not new… he'd always been that kind of kid. Parker holding the hand of one of those girls, however, was very new. Booth was pretty sure the last time he and his son had discussed "girls" they still had cooties. And when Booth spotted that development, he unconsciously stood up a little straighter, like he does when he's about to interrogate a suspect.

A few seconds later, Parker had spotted his Dad. In the past, given Booth's rare opportunities to pick up his kid from school in the middle of the afternoon, Parker normally ran at him full force, excited for the extra "guy time." Today, Booth was on the receiving end of an eye roll and a heavy sigh before Parker turned his back to him and said goodbye to the girl.

Booth had unconsciously walked away from his car, wanting to get a better look at the girl who Parker had walked to her own mother's car. He made a mental note of the car's plates, make and model before he turned and noticed his son's slumped shoulders as he trudged toward him. Not sure what part of the last three minutes to tackle first, Booth started with a simple "Hey, Parks!" to greet his son.

"Hey Dad," Parker said hesitantly, before glancing around him to look at the SUV.

"So, your Mom called and asked me to come pick you up today. Hope you're up for a boring afternoon of hanging out with your old man?" he said with a chuckle.

"You don't have to work?" Parker asked disbelieving.

"Nope, today, I'm all yours."

Booth could have sworn Parker grimaced at his words and watched as he stretched his neck again to look toward the SUV in the distance.

"Did you bring Hannah with you?"

This time, it was Booth's turn to grimace, the memory of Hannah, her rejection and their unspoken breakup merely a week old. He wasn't going to see Parker until this weekend, which he figured gave him plenty of time to figure out how to tell Parker about Hannah's departure. He realized he was going to have to wing it.

"Uh… no, Parker. Hannah's not with me."

"Oh… really?" Booth couldn't tell whether Parker's question was more hopeful or disbelieving.

Booth tried to school his features, which prominently displayed both confusion and frustration. "No Bub, No Hannah. Just you and me."

"Oh," he said, a small smile breaking on to his face. "Okay… what are we gonna do?" he asked.

"I was thinking we could go to the park, throw a ball around a bit, maybe grab dinner. Or, if you've got homework to do, we could go back to the apartment and…"

"No! The park is good. Definitely the park."

Booth laughed. "Okay, but then at dinner, we will go over your homework for the night."

Parker rolled his eyes as they walked toward the SUV to leave.

oOoOoOo

Booth kept the afternoon's conversations light, asking his son about school, what he wanted to do this weekend and eventually his top choice for summer camps. He couldn't resist making a face at his son's enthusiasm for squint camp in July, to which Doctor Hodgins had filled him in on the overnight camping trip to some bug-infested area in Virginia where the students would get to run all sorts of field tests on the water, plant and wildlife in the area. It was one thing for his son to want to be a squint. It was entirely different for him to want to become a bug man. He noted to keep his son's knowledge of Hodgins' so-called government conspiracies in check.

When they finally sat down to burgers and milkshakes at The Diner, Booth decided it was time to talk about women. But at the last second, he chickened out on the woman he meant to bring up first.

"So, who was that girl you were walking out of school with when I picked you up today?"

Parker's face, previously lit up with enjoyment due to the milkshake he was slurping, dropped. "Dad, I don't want to talk about it," he said in a stern and angry voice.

Booth was taken aback with the vehemence in his son's tone. "Parker…" Booth started, the shock at his outburst evident. "I'm just curious as to who she is, Bub."

"And I don't want to tell you," Parker said plainly, before taking about bite of his hamburger.

At his son's refusal, Booth dropped his own burger back to its plate, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. Parker recognized the movement and in great mini-Booth fashion, dropped his burger and matched his father's posture.

Booth infinitesimally squirmed at the sight of his son, obviously determined to take on his father regarding this subject for whatever reason. He thought if Brennan was here, she'd say something about the adolescent male of the tribe trying to assert his alpha male independence. Whatever the reason, Booth didn't like it.

"Why don't you want to tell me about her, Parker?" he said in a perfectly intimidating G-man tone.

"Listen, Dad, we're guys, okay. And guys, they don't need to talk about mushy stuff or girls or any of that with each other. At least, we don't have to do that, right?" he said more than asked, gesturing between the two of them. "I'm just playing by the rules and I'd appreciate it if you'd do the same."

Booth's face turned from stern to confused as he digested Parker's words. "What rules?"

"The rules where you and I don't talk about who we date. You never tell me about your girlfriends so I shouldn't have to tell you about mine."

"Parks… what are you talking about? I don't really date that much," he nearly muttered to himself. "But you've met Hannah. You two have hung out before."

"Yeah, I met Hannah. _After_ she moved in with you. So, if Jessica and I decide to move-in together in say, I dunno, a hundred _billion_ years from now, I'll tell you about her. But until then, let's just be guys about it, and go by the rules."

"What is it with you and the 'rules?'" he asked, making air quotes to emphasize "rules." "First off, there are no rules about you and I talking about who we date or anything else for that matter. And second, even if there were, you're 11 and you should want to break the rules, not obey them. Geez… sometimes I think you spend too much time with Bones."

"Not lately," Parker muttered loud enough for Booth to hear.

"Parker, if there's someone in my life and I'm serious about her, then I'll tell you about her."

"Then Dad, if there's someone in my life and I'm serious about her, then I'll tell you about her."

Booth knew he had to come clean about Hannah and tell him she was gone. And now he feared the longer he waited to tell him, the more flack his kid was going to give him for it. But there was something else Booth was picking up from Parker that he wanted to get an answer to first.

"Parker… do you not like Hannah?"

Parker rolled his eyes before he said, "She's fine."

"Yeah, your words say one thing but your tone says another. FBI, buddy, so try again."

"It's not that I don't like her, Dad. I just don't know her very well. Yeah, I've spent some time with her now, but you've spent lots of time with her. And you came back from Afghanistan and she was already living with you. I'd never even met her before. I know…" Parker stopped and hesitating as he searched for the right words.

"I know I don't live with you very often, and sometimes that really sucks, you know. But I kinda thought that your house was like my house too, like my second house. And when Mom started dating Brent, I knew him for a long time before he ever came over for _sleepovers_. And a really long time before he moved in. And Mom asked me before he moved in how I felt about it. And she said that if I didn't want him to move in, then he wouldn't get to move in. That it wasn't her choice, it was our choice."

Parker paused before continuing. "I liked Brent, you know, but I liked it more that I had some say. Mom always says that I'm her number one guy, and my opinion matters most. And I liked that. So, I didn't really like that Hannah moved in before I even knew she was your girlfriend. But, I figure that must be a guy rule. So, if you don't have to tell me about your girlfriends, then I shouldn't have to tell you about mine."

Parker returned to eating his dinner, while Booth observed him. Parker noticed he was watching him, but he was pretty good about seeming oblivious to it, rearranging the toppings on his burger and searching his milkshake glass for the cherry that had sunk into it.

"You're wrong Parker. And you're right," Booth conceded quietly.

Parker looked at him puzzledly and decided to ask the more positive sounding question. "What am I right about?"

"I never should have asked Hannah to move in without talking to you first. Without making sure you were okay with it. I was wrong, Parker. You _always_, always come first," he emphasized. "If you don't like the woman I'm seeing, or just aren't comfortable with her for whatever reason, I have to respect that. And, you're right. You never got that chance with Hannah. And I'm sorry, Parker. I really am."

Parker looked thoughtfully at his Dad for a moment before he went to speak. But his Dad beat him to it. "And you're wrong about those rules things. We don't have rules where we keep things from each other. I messed up and I'm sorry and I promise to try not to mess up again. But we need to agree… I won't keep anything from you and you don't keep anything from me. Deal?"

"You're not just saying this so I have to tell you about Jessica, right?" he asked skeptically.

"Nope. I mean it. For both of us… we have to tell each other everything."

"Okay…" he responded slowly. "Deal."

"Deal," Booth confirmed, sticking his fist out to get it bumped by his son.

"So… I have to tell you something. Hannah and I… we aren't seeing each other anymore."

"You broke up?"

"Yeah, Bub, we did."

"Oh… okay," he said

"That's it?"

"Yeah, I guess," Parker said with a pause. "Are you sad?"

Booth squirmed in his seat before answering. "A little. But I'll get over it."

Parker considered saying something else about it, but went a different route instead. "Jessica just switched to my school a couple of months ago. She's my lab partner in biology class."

"Your lab partner?" Booth queried.

"Yep. She's cool. Knows all sorts of stuff about things. We've been studying pond scum and different kinds of bacteria and the other girls get really grossed out by it. But Jessica thinks it's awesome."

"She sounds cool…" Booth said with a grin.

"Yep. She makes for an excellent lab partner."

Booth took a bite of his hamburger as Parker continued. "I told her that she could come with me to the lab at someday, and now that you and Hannah are broken up, we can go soon right? She thinks Bones sounds fascinating and _has_ to meet her."

He choked a little bit on his hamburger at whatever implication his son had made, before smiling and shaking his head. "Sure Bub, sometime soon."

* * *

_**Okay... sans anymore Season Six angst to get out of my system, there's just one more piece to go and I can sum it up in one word: Angela. :D**_

_**On this piece, I'd love to know your thoughts if you got 'em.**_

_**Also… I just have to pimp this other story. As a gift to me and my neurotic (and totally justified) fanfic pet peeves, some of the best writers on FF got together to compose the most tragically unoriginal, #grammarfail, riddled-with-stereotypes Bones story ever written… it's hilarious and I love them for doing it. It was written all in good fun (if you take offense to it for any reason, you should consult a therapist) and I strongly encourage you to go to the author's page for "Seelrance" and read The Flaw in the Fic. It's in my favorites list and it's so bad, you'll laugh all day long. And you're welcome!**_


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